Love letter # 164
I know what you’re thinking. Here he goes again. I always felt we broke up for the wrong reason.
It was fear that finished it; not fighting, not betrayal. You didn’t even get a better offer. You just got scared. To you, being with me – with anyone – was like a prison. The idea of giving up your freedom was too much. “I can’t be close,” you said. “It’s easier with strangers.”
I know this because I once I fought off a wife who loved me. Until she left me. Perfectly free. Absolutely alone. For a while I revelled in the space. Then it became empty. Sure, boxes got ticked, but what for? … Victory won’t hold you tight.
And then I was incarcerated – in the self – stranded in the ever-present me, racking up points for nobody. I drank some damn fine wine – but no one was there to share it with me and in the end the taste was almost sour.
For love is our greatest liberty. When we love we give back to life. Our love lets us know at least one thing for sure.
So yes, I will go on about it – and I won’t stop – not until the breath is taken from my body. And though I may be cut to shreds for my stubbornness, I will not shirk from scars because I would give much more than a little skin to wake up next to you again.
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