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.