Love letter # 192

We all bow before the seasons. Every year it’s the same – the particular perfume of beginning, the smell of promise. The scent in the air that night.

And you spilling wine on my shirt. Your hand on my chest as I changed. My eyes hungry. Yours too. Him in the other room.

You might say you regret it but there isn’t anything I wouldn’t burn again. I learnt to notice the flowers that year.

And I smell them now and think of your skin.

Love letter # 184

I know we’re all too cool these days to use the ‘L’ word. I mean, commitment is so passé, right? And why limit yourself?

Do we say that shit because we’re afraid or do we really believe in this cruel cult of self, this so called empowerment that’s really just vanity in skinny disguise?

Maybe I care too much to be cool. Maybe it matters to me what happens to you. And get this – I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather wake up next to. I don’t need a million options. When you are near to me, your kiss is all I could want. And I am freer in your arms than anywhere else on the planet.

I guess that means I love you. How uncool is that?

Love letter # 63

There was no time when we were together – just a sea and you and me. Things I never dreamt of – dreamable – believed – and in my waking moments you were floating next to me.

We had our lovely bubble – a world for no one else – and you were my beautiful queen and I was on my knees. Nobody ever knew who we were – invisible walls around us – so no one saw it coming.

No, not even me.

Love letter # 107

Maybe you thought I was perfect once. I didn’t. A mask won’t fool a mirror.

All along, I was the one who judged. I was the arrogant reformer. You humbled me with your acceptance and I acted like I was the one being held down. You gave me treasure and I hid it in a drawer.

Did I think I could make you better? Was I that far up myself? Better than what, I now wonder. Better than someone who loved me?

When I said I didn’t deserve you maybe I was hoping you would let me off the hook; absolve me of my inability to care about anybody else. If only you’d woken up – then I could still be sleeping.

Now I can’t even apologise; because sorry is the ultimate vanity. I’m not really sad for you, I’m sick for myself. It’s my conceit I regret, not your wasted investment in me.

I feel awful just thinking it. Trapped. Unable even to make amends. Everything is stained with self. I am me – through and through – and there is no room for you.

Love letter # 133

I think sometimes I might be blessed. At least, that’s what I think when I think about you. I’m sure there are more worthy candidates. Kinder. Warmer. More truthful. Better able to return the love you so freely extend.

I woke up in the middle of a dream with you, having no idea how I came to have you in my arms. I blinked – and your incredible kindness filled me up. From a point somewhere in darkness, I found myself in light.

I am like the desert after the miracle of rain – transformed. I sink to my knees in this abrupt garden and I thank every God anyone thought of for all these flowers; and I pray that I work out how to look after them.

Be patient with this terrible gardener you have chosen, for I have only just learnt to use the watering can.