Love letter # 128
Please excuse my anger – it’s the mask my dread likes to wear – it’s the naked fear of losing you – it’s this incredible vulnerability in me you have exposed.
Believe me I have tried not to act out. I have tied down outbursts. I have hidden tears. And when I was busting to adore you shamelessly – that too I kept quiet.
I used to wonder why some people were the way they were – now I know. How many times have I gone looking for signs? How many nights have I tested you? I would be ashamed; except I know all this seeking comes from deep need.
Sometimes, I swear, I am a vessel of desire, a mere carrier of torches – all burning for you. If once I seemed strong it was because I did not care. Then I took the risk of loving you. Then your beautiful kiss undid me.
Last year, I wore armour. This year, I wear my wounds with pride. They are the mark of a man. He who does not bleed is bloodless.
Though there are times when I swear I’ll die, when my hunger kills my good sense; there are other hours, like this one, when I know I am saved. You let me love you – you drew me on – and now I am alive. At last.
Love letter # 59
Sunlit autumn afternoons – they are like my desire. The satin soft shimmer of summer; now cool edged and minty. The preposterous, quixotic belief that somehow this warmth will linger; absurd like my stubborn dream.
In this inexorably chilling air, the ghost of a song; its echo receding to inevitable hush. I whisper to these burnt gold leaves – do not fall – knowing they must. And with steamy breath I pray for the sun’s return. As I sing for you.
I am sure I will sleep tonight hoping to wake in spring, even though I know I will not – but certainty never stopped me before. That’s what all these ridiculous words are for. They are the Indian summer of a fevered hunger. They are the last beautiful day.
And in this lovely, gilded air – soft like your gaze used to be – I can almost believe. Believe enough, at least, to ask aloud for one more twirl in the light, for one last tumble of dice. For there is a fire burning here – warm enough for you, my love. Warm enough for you.
Love letter # 47
Sometimes there is a knife in me – and it cuts so beautifully. The rush of blood that follows is heady – like a delirious tide … and everything is pure yearning. This is how I feel tonight – wanting you so – aching like madness. Right now, I am a light source loving you. I am the river inexorable, sinewy, snaking my way to your sea. Once I was a mere drop of rain – now I am a part of your splendour. I love you. That is all.
Love letter # 18
That song came on the air – you know the one – and I was plucked from the sky. In a beat I was back on your floor, lying next to you in a world we made up with secret signs.
I closed my eyes so that I could see you again. Your gaze close and liquid, your index finger tracing my jawline, your mouth so soft – whispering coded affection. And god I loved you – like not a moment had passed, like I was about to enfold you once more.
And right there – stranded in that gorgeous music – surrounded by unblinking strangers – ecstasy and despair came together. I was both the lover in brilliant flight and the grounded fool left longing.
I wanted you. I wanted you. I wanted you so.
Time does not heal – don’t believe them when they say that. Those two years – they have not dimmed a single star. The ocean I loved you with still has the power to wash me away. I drowned in that song – just like we used to swoon.
So many if onlys … playing over like the chorus.
Is there a point to all this? I don’t know. Maybe I’m just hoping you’ll remember our days as fondly as I do – not so that you’ll suddenly want me back but so that you, like me, will be able to conjure up such splendid stars for the price of a song.
The angels don’t always sing happy tunes – but boy do they sing.
Love letter # 97
Sometimes I feel like blaming you. Sometimes I wish I felt nothing. That would be a whole lot easier.
None of this is what I think – it’s how I feel. In my polite, well ordered mind this is all perfectly ordinary break up stuff. You started off liking me and then something changed and you didn’t. I tried to get you back but I failed. Nothing new, nothing original about any that. Ho-hum really.
Yet in my blood coloured heart it ain’t anything like that. It’s still raw, a wound still bleeding; with all the irrational, hyper-emotional drama that goes with it. I’m almost ashamed to admit it.
Partly, I want to hurt you back – anything to draw a response. Even though I know this is utterly ridiculous, I still find myself wanting it. It’s an incredibly humbling experience. I feel thoroughly undermined. The reasonable and relatively well balanced person I once prided myself on being has left the building. He dissolved in your embrace … Or maybe he was an illusion waiting to be shattered.
But y’know what? … So what.
None of that matters. More stupid theories that change nothing. The only way this is going to change is if I stop. So that’s what I’m proposing. An end. A full stop.
Love letter # 6
I’m writing this to say one simple thing. It’s you I’d choose.
Love letter # 94
She’s really lovely. I really like her; and she quite likes me. But you know …
I so nearly kissed her. I would have – except …
Do I have to say? It’s absurd. Or is it?
I mean, look at us – you the sun, me the planet. All that gravity. All that twirling around in space.
So shall I hurt her for you? Because she probably will be hurt. I would be.
She will wonder why. She will wonder what could be better. Just like I do.
So tell me …