Love letter # 227

The scientists tell us that it’s just a chemical tide, an evolutionary trigger. I don’t doubt it … but it doesn’t feel like that right now.

If there is no such thing as a song, why am I singing?

I am prepared to accept that this buzz is a rush of hormones, that this sudden colour is a simple trick of light … but if this is just genetics – praise the biology. What a wonderful dumb thing this is; how I am starving for surrender.

The truth is irrelevant – your skin is everything.

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Love letter # 43

I sit here – the sea a mirror blue, sky like a primed canvas, cool air settling like a blanket of feathers. It’s perfect. And what do I think of?

You.

So I reach for phone, dial the number with your name on it, just about crumble when you answer. My nerve vanishes – small talk replacing intention. I imagine you, wherever you are, the light shining out of you. We chat, we laugh, we say see ya later … but here’s what I really wanted to say.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Love letter # 26

Now that there is nothing left, I am free to think what I want – and I have chosen to think of the beautiful things. I will remember your loving, your incredible tenderness, your fingers twined in mine, your head on my chest. I will give thanks for the storm you unleashed, for the blood you made hot, for the meaning.

In the privacy of recollection, the edited reel of our days and nights, you will always be the star. The truth does not change the way I feel; it simply sets the record straight. But I would rather the sweet river flow than be dammed.

There is a jewel untarnished, undimmed by the scratch and bang of history – and this is what I carry with me. I’d rather be a fool who loves you too long than a bitter man with a shut up heart who lets the sweetness pass him by.

Love letter # 501

Suddenly, as though a door had opened somewhere, the years have been compacted; then squashed up against now. All our time together has melted and now we’re just sitting here – you a million miles away, me choking. Our drinks have arrived; our food will be here soon. Will we eat in distracted silence – like we did last week?

… Or?

I watch the couple over by the window; so young, so utterly unknowing. She looks at him with velveteen wonder. He can barely breathe for the beauty of her. All the fires burn for them.

I smile at you. You raise an eyebrow, acknowledging – not connecting.

Turn around, my love. Look back in time. Not so long ago that was us. We were the dancers – and the music played through our fingers. We couldn’t keep our hands off one another. We used to leave the meals half uneaten.

But that was before everything. Before the years, before the banks, before the future got in the way. We owned nothing then – and no one owned us.

I want you to love me again, not just put up with me. I want your sweat on my skin. I want your bitten lip. I want that 4am promise kept.

I wanna love or die.

We are not here to pay the bills, my angel. We were sent for fire.

Leave with me now, right through that door. Leave the dollar bills on the table and for once, let’s be hungry, not merely starving. Kill all the phones, open up the jets, burn off the scales. It’s us, after all.

Love letter # 137

I did not love you because you loved me. I loved you because you were wonderful.

I did not kiss you for your kiss. I kissed you for your splendour. We did not dance because we had to. We danced because the music …

You weren’t the one I hoped for. You were much better. I never saw you coming. So glad I was blind. So glad you caught me out.

I do not say this to explain. I say it just to say it. Because it’s true. Because you’re beautiful.

 

Love letter # 90

It is often said of lovers that one remembers, the other forgets. You can guess which one I am.

Three years ago today. Do you recall? We listened to Sigur Ros – and the whole world was ours. You asked me if love was the most important thing. I said there was nothing else. It was the beginning of everything.

So how did all that music turn to silence; all that closeness to miles? And what has time done to us?

I know that it’s really quite mundane – that it happens to everyone – but I still can’t fully grasp it; let alone accept it. Yes, I walk through the days. Yes, I function. But that’s all.

In my chest there remains a knot. I feel it like a weight, like a strain in the breath. It is the part of me that still loves you. It is my heart.

Perhaps it is the cold silence I hate most; maybe that’s why I’m writing this. For even a lone voice is something. Even a memory.

I mark this day and honour you – for even now I would still grab fire from the sky and fashion stars for you.