Love letter # 154

How much I have not wanted to write this letter. How long I have delayed it. Turned it over in my head – in my gut. But alas, I feel that I need to say this: I can no longer continue. I do trust you. I feel that you toy with my feelings – enjoy the dumb, supplicant fact of them – but that you do not, never have and never will, reciprocate.

Naturally, you are allowed not to feel. This I have no issue with, much as it cuts me. My issue is with your behaviour – or rather, my reaction to it.

No more will I sit there, my affections being milked by you for whatever gratification this gives you. No longer will I rise in stupid hope to be slapped by the slamming door. It is a torment I am now refusing to bear on behalf of my absurd, hormonal optimism.

When you flash your smile – your eyes, your cleavage – I will no longer go to water. Because I will not be there to see it.

I am certain you will think me ridiculous in this but I would rather imagine that acerbic snarl of yours than stumble again into the honey trap you so beautifully set for me.

I stand ready to offer you all the love in the world – but if you will not receive it I will neither force it upon you nor suffer your teasing delight at my reflexive adoration.

Maybe you have not set out to beguile and fool me at all. Perhaps it is I to whom all the folly belongs. Makes no difference in the end. I cannot stand your loveliness – the way it hovers so near and then withdraws at the merest touch.

If I was made of stronger stuff I would most likely tough it out – but I am made of longing and impossible hunger – and I will not inflict the spectacle of my pathetic starvation on either of us.

Au revoir, my love. You are wonderful. Far too wonderful for me.

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Love letter # 214

Only by my hunger could I hope to measure you. Only by desire. And by not seeing exactly what I desired, I became blind to the love I already had. It was as though you could never love me enough. So in the end you stopped. For if my love will not do …

I see that now.

Not that that changes anything. You’re still half way round the world and I’m still here. I think about you nearly every day. I love you without fear now. It is a beautiful thing. A beam of light in my life. A jewel in my memory. The things I overlooked back then – they shine like wonder now.

You were a beautiful presence in my life – more beautiful than I knew. But you were not bigger than fear; and neither was I. For even our terror could not keep us together.

Had I not been so afraid I would have seen your little gestures, your shy kindnesses, and I would have been in flight. Would have taken you to the sky with me. Just for the glory of your smile.

Love letter # 386

Why do I grasp? Snatch at? Investigate? Suspect? Because I am afraid. That you won’t love me like I’d rather you would. That really – you don’t care.

And why do I want you to care? Because when we are loved – truly – we bask in the untroubled light of our own possibility. We are at our most magnificent. Cleansed of doubt. Cured of our fixation with the endlessly detailed and distracting dramas of empire and trophy. For it is to which we ultimately surrender. Love that is our fire.

And I would like to make such a flame with you.

Love letter # 142

Most years I scoff at the idea of Valentine’s Day. It’s such an obvious Hallmark occasion, a corporate concoction designed to give us something to buy during the slowest part of the retail calendar. And all that flowers and candlelit dinner shit. It’s so goddam suburban. Puke.

I know you know what I mean – which is why I can imagine your shock at receiving this. Because this year I have decided to get over my easy cynicism and to use the day as an excuse to say what I do not say often enough: that I love you, that you bring such incredible beauty into my life, and that when we’re together I feel safe.

Indeed, maybe we’re too smart for our good far too often. We think we’re so cool, so indestructible – but in the chill of the night we are all liable to the frights that darkness permits. Magnifies. For this is when we feel most alone and turn to our loved ones for reassurance. For anchor. And this is when I find you – always my light, always my warm harbour.

So this Valentine’s I am promising to acknowledge this fact every day – and not to need the external prompting of dead saints to remind me that I am fortunate indeed to have you near. Lucky to have you love me. Downright honoured that you let me love you back.

Letter To The Lonely Girl

I saw you when you first came into the bar. You were with your man. Your eyes, your smile, they were loving him – full of such care and wanting. So much kindness. And I was melted right there.

But he turned his shoulder – flirted with the pretty, skinny girl standing next to him. Your smile dissolved. You looked down. Played with your phone.

Later, as the band played, I saw you standing alone – your man and your friends sitting around a nearby table having fun while you hovered quietly. Ignored. Not even a drink to pass the time. Something about that tore at me.

True, you are not the stick thin, fake tan type that girls your age are supposed to be – but your beauty was radiating. It shone so bright, so obviously, that I wondered why your boy and your so-called friends could not see it. To me, there was nothing else in the room. Yours was the light and I was struck by it.

This is why I did what I did. Walked up out of the low light and stood beside you – told you that no matter what others think of or say about you, that you have a beauty inside you that is graceful and magnificent. And if they can’t see it, or choose to stare at shinier objects, then it is their loss.

Love letter # 271

When I am with you I am floating, as though there were a shield of light around me – the light that comes from your love. Yet it is not your love of me that arms me against that so-called slings and arrows – it is my love for you.

For when I am with you I am flowing – a beam of joy radiating out of me. And in this flow everything is resolved. All difficulty melted to simplicity. All the old wounds healed. And there is nought but the pure and unbroken wave that carries us both back home.