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.

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