Love letter # 82

If ever I have cause to doubt – and God knows I do – I only have to hear your voice. Why is it that the mere fact of your calling erases all pretence? I like to think I have resistance – but no. One minute of you and a veritable river of light runs through me – something like what I imagine electricity to be. Something like the space between breaths. And my cool adopted language cannot explain away the fire. And the flame? Babe, you know it never lies.


Love letter # 102

I thought I was the king of everything – now I know I’m nothing. The castle I constructed has weathered to a stack of old stones.

Now I am poor and free.

I wanted what could never be given – and in that wanting’s honour I served dreadful masters. Grasping. Jealous. Vengeful.

My various masks cracked from the inside as a writhing wildness in my veins snapped whipcrack electric. It was the blood coloured me all along, struggling to get out, given fuel by hunger.

It took you to set me free – even if you didn’t mean to.

I fell at the foot of your stairs, truly humbled, and I rose again … cleansed. I am no saint. I am no wise man. Rather – I am like the sapling – fallen from the branches above.

I shall sleep under the sky with nothing – yet I shall be the richer – for I have found a way to give; and I thank you for this gift.

Love letter # 20

Afternoon sun – early autumn – breeze like a sigh. As I walk, it’s like you’re beside me – still at my shoulder – humming madly.

Oh you difficult witch, you had me spellbound.

It’s only now that I type it out – girl, do I miss you. But at least I know what the empty space is now.

Funny how the sunlight reminds me.

Love letter # 35

Is it not true that those who live in the sky long for the ground?

It could just be that I want you because you say no – because you are elsewhere.

But could it not also be your beauty; bursting like bullets through walls? Is that not the real reason?

For your eyes, they break me open – and resolve is house of cards.

I watch the way you walk by and all my fine ideas are so much breathing.

And the hint of your kiss is a killer – and I am flying. Or maybe falling.

This dream could be my signal – my parachute alarm – but I doubt it; because you make the madness right with your fingers.

And your painted mouth is a siren.

Love letter # 71

At this distance, what I once was blind to is now obvious to me. Your tenderness. Your forgiveness. Your wonderful laughter. The way you blushed after a few drinks. Your kissing me when I least deserved it.

I carry little jewels with me always. The memory of sleeping in your embrace. The look in your eyes when you cared. Your late night phone calls. Our private jokes. Dancing on the median strip as the cars blurred by.

If I am occasionally given to great self-pity at the hard fact of your leaving, so too am I thankful for every light that shines. When I miss you, when I shudder with nauseous wondering, I give thanks for the nights when we were everything.

It is my honour to have walked beside you and no amount of ex-lover anguish will ever make me wish that I had not. Even if I find myself bleeding again tonight – it will be blood given for splendour.

Love letter # 48

That space I said I wanted – it turned out to be emptiness. And what was it that I saw in that so-called freedom I insisted upon? Oh yeah, that was it: green grass.

More like astro-turf. Synthetic. Nothing like real.

So yeah, I trawled the bars, a dog sniffing out novelty. But I couldn’t do it. I just sat there in new jeans and awkwardness; and I slunk back to my flat in a fog of booze and hormones.

I looked into the bathroom mirror and wondered who the hell I was. What I saw was miles below perfection. So why did I expect it in you?

Am I just greedy for angels? Do I want the girl in the film – the impossible one? Fat chance, when I have so little to offer her.

You have been gracious enough to share your love with me – your sweat and sex – your messy morning moodiness. You have been good enough to forgive me my innumerable flaws.

And in return, I retreated into a fantasy of … what? I don’t even know. If I thought I could get ‘something better’ I was either a fool or an arsehole. Both really.

You know how much I loathe corny sayings – but ‘love the one you’re with’ springs to mind. What I wanted was right there beside me – was holding my hand all along.

Doubtless you will be saying: “Yeah well, you’re a little late, sunshine.” Doubtless I will deserve your now icy shoulder. I voted with my feet and you quite rightly walked away.

For what it’s worth, I pray that you will soon be with someone who loves you better. In the meantime, please accept these inept apologies. I’m sure they will ring hollow but, I swear to God …

Love letter # 208

There is a space beside me. It’s where I want you to be.

Am I being impatient? Would it be better if I kept my wishes secret – or at least wordless? Shall I continue to subsist on half delivered promises?

Forgive me – but I cannot. I will not. I would like to fly, not be suspended.

Will you be with me now? Will you come across that bridge? Shall I have the honour of your hand?

See here – this is the road I walk upon. No – I do not know where it goes; but I want you for my compass.

Can we turn this silver into gold? Shall we risk this lovely spark for a fire? Will you?

Because I would.