Love letter # 488

 

It’s ridiculous really. Because trying not to think about you is thinking about you. Making out I no longer care is caring with all my heart.

 

I have tried to cut you out – to surgically remove the million traces you have left inside me – but perhaps all I have succeeded in doing is creating a bunch of tell-tale scar tissue. Ridges on my skin. Ghosts in my thinking. The tower of my denial is now the temple of your presence. Or is that absence? Maybe now they are the same.

 

I pushed you away to save myself from breaking – but in your wake I have mended out of shape. Bones with cracks. Dreams with caveats. I was afraid I might crumble before your eyes – that you would think me a fool for doing so. Now I simply carry the dust around with me. Ever heavier. The quiet, desiccation of a flower I was too scared to water with sorrow.

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Love letter # 377

 

Even after all this time I would still die in your place; because it was you who showed me a way of living that I had not previously imagined. When I first loved you the whole world came to life and I discovered a new way of being. With you I unearthed the real joy of this mortal plane: the ephemeral majesty of it all, the beautiful seasons of aging and the tender, silk fine connection of one soul to another. And for this inestimable gift there is nothing I would not yield in return.

Love letter # 243

You move like a river through this desert of mine. You fall like the rain upon my parched and broken ground. You rise like the moon on the blackest night. And everything glows. And deeply, and with low planetary sighs, I turn towards you. My love is like a force of nature; a rock in space around a star. This impulse is beneath and beyond anything I could ever explain. As though I were flung from the lofty heights into the warm encompassing valley of your hands. There to shudder and melt away.

Love letter # 230

I realise now the extent to which you lied to me; the manner in which you ruthlessly manipulated my affection for you. Of late, I have been very angry about this – furiously imagining encounters in which I get to hold you accountable. Yet I know too that I allowed it all to happen. If you were cynical, I was foolish. In this way at least we were a good match.

However, I have not sent this you in order to confront or insult you. I am old enough to know that cruelty is most often the result of earlier cruelty. Your lack of respect for me simply reflected the disrespect that you have been shown. Even more so, the lack of respect you have for yourself. I was simply a dog that you kicked. A dog that said kick me.

I am writing instead to acknowledge the folly of my optimism and to remind you that in the end the truth always emerges – and that games and lies have a way of destroying those who author them.

Of course, my saying this will not do me any favours – perhaps it will simply heighten your belief that I am weak and overly emotional – but I pray that you will remember it and that, one day, when thoughts of me are a million miles away, it shall give you pause. Not simply to spare some other love blind sap but to lift the veil of bitterness from what I still believe is your lovely heart.

We all have bruises – but there is nought to gain from inflicting them upon others. For our pain is not reduced one iota by the pain of others.