Love letter # 170
You used to make me dance for you. I was always glad to do so. And you always made me sweat. I was never more alive. Yes, I’d do it all again – if you only said.
Maybe you’ve forgotten how it feels. I haven’t. I sit here next to you and I can still see why. Beneath those layers, before all the stuff we wished had never … your dazzling eyes, my ready fire.
The stars never go out, they simply hide behind clouds; and when the rain clears we can lie on our backs and name them all anew. Just like that.
A storm is just a storm and a roof can be re-built; and though our words can’t be unsaid, tonight can be whatever we say. It could even be a song.
Love letter # 60
Once upon a time, the world was entirely imagined, a perfect orb spinning, a narrative unfolding. Beginning, middle, end. Such a neat cosmos. A little cold perhaps – but safe – and in this theoretical realm I hovered … untouched. There was a time when it was always going to be that way. The time before you.
Now there is a new world. A world of weather. Of dust. Of wonderful decay. A planet on which, by some inexplicable miracle, you are walking next to me. I abandoned the unblemished spheres for the rough cut stones you hurled through my windows. On crunching glass I was cut – and all the newly trickling blood tasted of your urgency.
I am alive at last in the imperfect rooms we share, where the creaking boards and leaking fixtures make space for us. I love your blemished grin, your faintly textured skin. By the light that comes from you I can finally see the wonder of the world. It is the beautiful ruin of ideals, the grave of perfection – the damp, smelling ground of love. This earth we walk upon.
And your hand in mine – so real.
Love letter # 191
You were my vespertine angel, my melancholy queen, and I was your lone hero, fighting the darkness on your behalf. But in the end the night still fell – and before the morning came I had lost you to the shadows.
Now the moon is my companion and the sun is the cruellest of eyes. When I wake in the night the black and the quiet make it possible to breathe your name out loud. In the day time, no such liberties are allowed.
I look for you in dreams; hoping to believe – but then my eyes fly open and the ghost of your kiss recedes at the speed of a startled sigh. Like you never ever were. And how complete the silence afterwards always seems. Deathly, deathly quiet.
In a way it’s a kind of release – as though memory itself had reached its end – and in that moment I am both the closest to and the farthest away from you. And I am okay at last.
Love letter # 147
Everything you heard is true. I did say those things. I was hoping to convince myself. I failed.
In my pain I tried to hate you, to spill my guts like a shield. Easier to rage than to cry; to clothe my nakedness in lies. When the love I had could no longer be shared I spat it out, as if it, as if you were the poison. But then, when the wounded animal had cried its awful cries, it lay down in the quiet and loved you even more.
Just as my love once felt like flight itself, tonight it comes like peace. The words have run dry but my heart still spells out your beautiful name. What magic cadence. And now … I cry to be free.
So I send you these words instead; for these are not my pain speaking, nor my vain hope pity seeking. These are the words of the song that still fills my blood with joy. This is what you left me with. Thank you, bella.
Love letter # 120
It is not simply because you are 800 miles away that I miss you. Without you near I find I am trapped inside my thoughts, my own awful, wordy conceits. Leave the ego alone and it will vainly consume the day, leaving only an ache for the night. When I can reach out and touch you I am saved from the unblinking tyranny of the self. In loving you, I breathe, I look outwards, I give. It is my blessing to know you – my misfortune to be so far away.