Love letter # 84

Talking to you now, after all this time, I am reminded of what it is I miss: emotional availability, compassion, unabashed honesty and the withholding of judgement. These are the qualities that still typify you and I. Even now – long after the storms that broke us up.

Perhaps it is an easy thing to be calm with distance. Only natural that some of the original warmth should return after the angst of parting has subsided. Yet I cannot help but feel it is a deeper and more lovely thing than a simple cooling of the heels. For I can see now that the little wars we fought were over nothing. That it was never our love that failed. It was something more mundane. Details. Vanity. Fear.

And now – much later than I should have – I can say without hesitation or caveat that I love you more than anyone I ever knew. More than myself. That you recognised me – and allowed me to see you.

I say this not as a matter of regret or apology, or even as a way back to you – for we both know that would be nostalgia gone mad – but as a long overdue honouring of the years we shared. It is clear now that we really did have something. A thing now patently lacking. And we both know how we lost it.

Yet I do not dwell upon this. I think instead of the beautiful, slender thread that still crosses the oceans between us. Of the door always open. Hearth still aglow. Love undiminished.

Even at the end of everything, this light I shall see by.

Love letter # 302

I loved you from the very first moment I saw you, for reasons that aren’t reasons. Without me knowing why or exactly how, a beam of light passed from your eye to mine and the question was both asked and answered in an instant. Less than an instant. As though I had always known you. As though you had walked forever by my side.

Today, I think of this miraculous confluence as an act of recognition. Of twin souls reconnecting. I realise that this is a highly romantic interpretation of events but of all the explanations I can reasonably summon, it is the one that fits best. The one that feels right.

And that spontaneous fire has never dimmed. Sure, there have been flutters, but every time the flames have come back stronger. Brighter. Now, every day, we warm ourselves by their lovely glow and still, on occasions, their heat passes into our limbs and we two are a kind of conflagration. As though it were that first amazing moment when I loved you without language or limitation.

No Ordinary Morning

Cool grey light through a tall sash window. Sound of a busy street below. The chirping bustle of Frank and Alysa getting ready for another day at the shop. Just a plain ol’ morning. Like so many before and since. An otherwise unremarkable day.

Except …

The weight of history. The vacuum to follow.

By your side – yet soon to be distant.

Still a little heavy – with sleep, with comedown – we blink at one another, seeking recognition. I trace my finger down the line of your jaw; you run your fingers through my bed messy hair. In the quiet we kiss. Slow and deep. Until our blood begins to thunder and you are on top of me. Inside of me. Your penis. Your urgency. My opening up. The flood that drowns us both.

The sweat soaked, breathless aftermath.

As we lay there – not wanting to break the trance. Not even with words. Let alone with a thought.

For a second I think I can hear your heart beating. That fragile, primal pulse counting out the measure of your life. The on and the off. The sound and the silence. Together and alone.

And deep in my chest, the same drummer drumming. The same river flowing. The wonderful circle of everything.

And of course, my yearning.

In the shower. You washing my hair. Running your warm, silky hands all over me. Your cock hard against my back. Your breath in my ear. My glad surrender. All other considerations melted down to pleasure. To oblivion.

Only when the hot rain stops and the cooler damp of the day prickles the skin do we truly wake up. To find ourselves naked and on the verge of shivers.

With empty hours to fill until …

On the beach we brace ourselves against the steely ocean air as we look out at the horizon and ponder what lies beyond it. Over the edge of the earth. Past midnight.

We hold hands. Stroll. Looking like lovers.
Yet still we cannot find that much to say. Perhaps it has all been said.

Out of the blue, you observe, “I think your beach is much nicer,” and I agree.

“In fact, I think your whole world is much nicer,” but about this I cannot be so sure.

“What makes you say that?” I wonder.

You smile at the sea, then turn to look at me. “I bet you have people who really love you; rather than just say they do.”

“Well, I really love you, Bret.”

“I know,” you say – your voice just about to crack.

I watch – knowing there is no immediate remedy, at least not within my power – as you squeeze your eyes tight and a single pearldrop emerges briefly, before you wipe it away with your index finger and take a deep, centring breath.

I wait, hoping you might say the words I have been longing for. I see your lips part, as though to form them. Your bottom lip trembles. There is an elastic pause.

But you choke back the idea – exhale a sigh of consolidation – and I know that I will never ever hear you say them.

Love letter # 277

From the distance of now it is safe to say that I would have offered you everything in my power had you wished it. I would have run with you to wherever you wanted to be – however far away from everything else that was.

I am almost certain that this would have been a grand folly – but at least I would have known the thrill of it. For though I am here now – and there is much to like about this fact – I still cannot help the feeling that in my truest heart I most long to be wherever you are.

Love letter # 339

It is arresting – humbling – to catch yourself hoping when all rational expectation is long dead. In spite of all my previous declarations and determinations, a stubborn candle burned. Little more than a slurry of wax smouldering in a dim corner of fantasy. Yet still alight.

For desire pays no heed to evidence.

So what is it I desire so madly? Surely not just you – for you are merely a man – a wreck like me. Tangled up and tarnished.

No – that tiny fire burned for something I wanted more than the veils of sanity or respectability. More than family. Than being right. Than you.

Connection.

Not just the idea but the experience of being a part of something bigger than the self.

And its wonderful corollary – the end of loneliness.

Love letter # 305

Although time and aeroplanes have put distance between us – and mismatched desires once drove a knife into our togetherness – the years and the miles have not dulled my central affection for you. Whatever the dramas and disputes were back then, the light that drew me to you shines as bright as it ever did.

Though I am aware that hindsight and nostalgia are themselves warping prisms, I recall the connection we had and I realise that it is precisely this that I am searching for now. Something real and deep and affecting. Something committed and risky. Something that changes me utterly. As my love for you once did so profoundly.

And so today, I send you warmth and well wishes and humble thanks. That which you gave me was more than you will ever know. More than sex or validation. More than mere support or recognition. Perhaps I cannot find the words to say clearly what it was (is) but I feel it every day and I honour you for it.