Love letter # 737
I gave you the chance – you didn’t take it. I sent you a personal message and you replied with something about work. If there is another way to interpret this, please let me know – but the way I read it, your message is as clear as mine. In light of this, no more messages from me, no more pressing, no more little sweetnesses.
Thank you for being lovely, for shining a beam of light into my days. I apologise for growing these feelings and for the awkwardness they have now created between us. They will fade over the next few weeks as I detach myself from you. Maybe we can still be friends – but that will have to happen later – when my heart stops drumming out the sound of your name. When my resolve is stronger than my desire.
Love letter # 132
Sitting next to you tonight it hit me. You just tolerate it. That thing I took for your liking me was just you putting up with me. I saw it in your eyes. Please don’t look at me that way – that’s what they said.
For certain I am fool – but not stupid. You allow my touch without responding. You smile when I’m sweet. Maybe you just say yes because you can’t quite find a way to say no.
I feel ashamed. I never wanted this. I wanted you – it’s true – I still do.
I wish I found this out before I loved you. Now when I walk away I leave a little part of me behind. Hanging around your loveliness. Still deluded.
I hope you will forgive my outrageous feeling – my ill-advised flights of fancy. I only wanted to love you. Instead I’ve embarrassed you. Made everything ridiculous.
We wear the same masks as everyone else – we keep our burning quiet – but still those fires light up the night. Every rule in the book will not stop me aching for you. I am dissolved in your nearness – pretence unwound by the brush of your fingers. I feel like light when I’m around you.
Or rather, I did. Because now I have seen and the evidence is undeniable; and the only decent thing to do is disappear. No drama. No scenes. Just these words. My confession. You were right. I liked you too much.
Love letter 211
I’m sitting next to you – typing this – and I’m on fire. But nobody would know – not even you. I’d love to get you alone but the crowds make that unlikely. Perhaps later; though probably not. Desire is an easy secret to keep from others but not from yourself. There is never any real hiding from what you want. And I want you.
Love letter # 300
Just say. Don’t test me with signs or whatever you think they are. Say yes or no. Make it plain. I was never a genius before I knew you – why would loving you make me any smarter?
I’m scouring you for clues – waxing between near certainty and crestfallen flatness. You touch me, you ignore me. All that stupid stuff. And I’m the stupider for falling for it.
So that’s why I’m writing – putting my head on the block. Let it be salvation or something else. Just not this unseemly adolescent guessing game. Not this wanting not to want, not this turgid drama of private wondering. If it’s no, I’ll know.
But if it’s yes …
Another day waking up to the echoes of you. Your name the fateful conjurer. Oh, the things that follow in its wake, they are like voices. Like a choir. And all of their songs are about you.
I watch myself doing it but still it happens. I see the pattern, the way the days unfold into desperation, yet here I am. Not yet dressed, writing about you.
Where does it come from? I do not know. I only know that it’s here. That it speaks to me and I type out what it says.
Love letter # 285
I’ve been trying to hide it – but your proximity opens up the cracks in my shield of uncaring. And now, even when you’re not around, I think of you – dream up scenarios.
It’s your long black hair, your gorgeous smile, the way you let your hand rest on my knee. That and my appalling need. My loneliness, my hunger, the scent of your skin.
We are nothing if not animals looking for a mate; perhaps this explains the silent, secret gravity between us. Or maybe you are just the nearest – and I the closest to you.
If there is a truth here, it is that desire will overpower the inches that separate us. It will crush our cool language to sighs. It will turn our wiser heads to kiss. Unless I leave.
Love letter # 178
You and me speak a language no one else does – although I’m sure everyone understands. It is the secret tongue of lovers. We whisper it at night. You breathe it in into me and I sigh in return. And you know exactly what I mean.