Love letter # 193

I gave you up for dreams – and what were those dreams? Just conceits I conceived. I see your smile in that old photograph and I am crushed by the simple weightlessness of it. And to think, I walked away for baubles. They are the rubble about me now. I cannot even remember what made them attractive … but you – you I never forgot. The memory of your tenderness puts me to shame. What a fucking arrogant prick I was.

Yes, I am sorry – for myself and also for you. I let you believe I was somehow different. You gave me your love and I mistook it for a toy. When it was inconvenient I simply discarded it. I know we are all free to come and go as we choose but freedom is a lie if its cost is cruelty.

I am old enough – bruised enough – humbled enough to know that every dream I ever dreamed is nought compared to waking up in the arms of love. You knew that all along. I was too busy with myself.

My own cuts I can bear, but not yours. I’m sorry you had to wear the cost of my folly and I pray that you can look at that same photo now and feel a whole lot better about it than I do.

Love letter # 141

Why would I travel the whole world when the most astonishing beauty is right here? If there is anything better than when you touch me, I have yet to experience it. You are all the riches I could ever dream of. I would give away a mountain of gold to share a simple meal with you.

In our humble home … all the wonders of the world. With the touch of your hand … every victory I ever craved. And when you sleep beside me I have no need for further dreams.

I hear your key turn in the door, I hear your footsteps on the floor – and I just love you.

Love letter # 115

The world rattles, noise outside, busy with itself – but when those bright lights lose their lustre the rush is just an hour, a pretty, distracting drive by. And try as it might the clatter cannot cut the thread.

For there are things that hold us together: the long and lovely narrative, the bittersweet anchor, the subtle undertow. Things louder for being quieter; like the turn of your head, that certain gesture, the way that years fold down so acutely to moments.

This is what we sleep with tonight; this is what we wake to. Our heritage, the memory that stirs in our blood, the flowers growing beautiful in our garden. We are rich like the earth with dirt and history.

I am moved to wander in the ancient mists with you, to walk quietly and forever. And I shall breathe the same air as you … and know.

Love letter # 606

It’s like I’m someone else; someone alive.

For years I lived in detachment, never really feeling. Now I am the thin skin of an ocean, my public face a meniscus – a taut thread holding back the wonderful overwhelming flood you let loose in me.

I never used to cry because nothing mattered enough. Tonight I am a waterfall.

I have lost control of control. I have surrendered and it is the most beautiful, empowering thing ever. I give in to you – every time – and on each occasion I find myself flying.

Everything else is a construct – part way to a lie. Vanity.

But this electric, this light, this feeling that borders on evaporation … this is how it all melts away.

And there is nothing left – just the rain and the rivers and the vast and welcoming sea.

Love letter # 108

Memory has its own geography. These streets we stumbled through, that place we used to meet, the corner where your eyes lit up. And on your doorstep; your tears, my determination.

I’m sure I had a reason – but even this familiar grid won’t bring it to mind. It must have been important though; to make me walk away from you.

It should be obvious now that I’m kicking myself. Not that I expect you to take me back – it’s far too late for that. I got what wanted – whatever it was – and it turned out to be nothing.

I am sorry I made you pay for my vanity. I took your love and made a prison out of it and after I escaped I realised that I was gaoler.

Whenever I find myself in the old neighbourhood of us I imagine the still loving ghosts of you and me. It may please you to know that they still dance in public. I hear their light footsteps, watch their shadows flitting … and I still love you.

A folly for which, once again, I offer humble apology.

Love letter # 245

I’m prepared to believe there’s starshine in your eyes – not because there is but because it makes me high to think so. I get a rush when I think you’re wonderful. My heart is alive when it belts out your name. And then when you touch me … The truth may well be out there but it doesn’t hold a candle to the fire in here.