Love letter # 8
And so here we are, as I always knew we would be. Miles apart; days drifting into weeks and longer, treasures gathering dust. Dusk becoming midnight.
I guess I thought I’d get used to it. I never did. The world kept reminding me. Every time I thought that perhaps the fever had dulled, or the vivid light paled – just as I was about exhale the last vaporous wisps – I realised.
I understand that all things pass, that there is no owning, and that wishing – for all its intense and consuming drama – has no effect whatsoever. I am just a man at his desk, waiting in the softening blur of evening for some unforseen angel to deliver him his elsewhere girl.
I never met anyone like you – maybe you never met anyone like me. I hope so. But I would still burn the whole world if the only thing left was you and me.
Yet even though there are still nights – this one included – when I beg whatever gods there are to let me sleep, I have enough sense left to insist that, come the morning, they leave me enough blood for love.
For to love you is to walk through the day in grace and humility – to remember that we are all disrupted music – to see how the light illuminates every single thing. Not a soul shall be cut off from love. For this incredible gift I thank you.
I cannot say where this river will end; other than in some vast welcoming sea but I know that sooner or later every drop of me will rise up to the sky, where perhaps I will be closer to you. For even if I was an angel you would be my special one.