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L. Jerome Manning 
This feels strange writing a general letter and not directed specifically. I'll do my best not to come across as a dull lame. My name is Jerome but I respond to Shah or X {long story but interesting}. I am 30 years old, 5'9", 195 pounds, with no body fat. I'm into my body but not in a conceited way... sometimes, but I have never been one to press a woman nor require her to work out too, because plump can be pleasant. I love to draw what my spirit dictates as well as write poetry or spoken flow. I also write novels and currently have twelve written and I'm now focusing on publishing. I write Fiction, Romance and Fantasy. Most of my books consist of interracial relationships because in N.C., S.C., Tenn. and V.A., I know for a fact that it's a big thing. So my focus is on an untapped consumer. I also have a twelve year old who is my heart and my twin and he'll always be part of the package.
My interest in a woman's physical appearance is dwarfed by her character. She can be 19 to 49, short, tall, slim, plump, athletic, black or white, just as long as she is emotionally aware and receptive. I guess I'm a man in love with the idea of being in love and love knows no boundaries. I have always been an emotional in-tuned man even if a bit of a roughneck. I am well-read and there aren't too many subjects I cannot input on if not too in depth.
Right now the best description for me is terribly lonely and extremely emotionally needy, but I do have my pride regardless of my current situation. I just need a woman to share this pain and to help me maintain my sanity in hell. I have a lot to offer if somewhat limited by walls and miles.
L.Jerome Manning
Address: L. Jerome Manning #0255369
PO Box 708
Spruce Pine, NC 28777
Birthdate: November 3/1973
Expected Date of Release: 2013-2015 it seems forever empty no matter how much is put into it-
Devoid of light and feeling yet there is a supreme emotion, the emotions of
desolation, loneliness, sadness and they seemingly make one feeling-
The hole is dry and brittle yet full of dampness from a flood of tears that is
poured into it and thirstily it drinks this wetness yet remains unquenchable-
There was once hope there, but just like the light it has long ago fled, turing
hopeless and dark, blindingly needing and wanting-
What can grow in such a place but mold and it decays into an
accumulation of nothingness to be neglected even by its nourishment-
This abyss is contained in pain, yet it smothers and consumes the pain that is
itself, breeding only more pain more emptiness-
This place is the destruction of life yet there is no life without it, nor love.
This place is the human heart-
Shah
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