Love letter # 293
There are things beyond my explanation – or at least, my capacity to explain. It’s just that somewhere along the line I began to notice you in ways that were more intense and uncomfortable than I bargained for. Not my intention certainly; but I have to be honest.
I’m only saying this now so that you can have an answer to the obvious question waiting behind your eyes.
Yes, this is why I have withdrawn. Why I look down at the floor. Why I make lame excuses and leave early. Say no to the drinks. Because I cannot bear the thought that this wave building up in my blood might burst through my skin and spill its crimson tide everywhere.
Also, desire (or love if you like) has turned me into an idiot on so many previous occasions that I am afraid that at the mere sight of this much stupider, needier version of me you will turn on your heels. Or worse, turn to scorn.
The poets and dreamers may extol love to the heavens – but for us flawed and fragile mortals it is often the destroyer.
So maybe if you give me time and space it will pass and I will be able to act normal around you again. Until then, forgive me my gut wrenching fear of rejection. It is a folly, I know, but from my vantage point it is a lesser sin than those almost certain to be committed by the amorous and thwarted suitor I would become if this passion gets out of its cage.
Love letter # 309
It is not that I am especially broken – nor particularly wise – just a little wary. More than just bruises. Deep fissures; some of which have turned to a kind of freezing trepidation. Which makes me look at you with a mix of terror and desire. Tenderness and suspicion.
This could be the legacy of time or the ‘take-out’ of what we call failure. After all, who amongst us wishes to suffer more than necessary?
Yet for all that … you. Beautiful and present. A fire to warm through the ice of disappointment. To set the rivers running once more.
Forgive me if I appear to falter. Tis not a lack of wanting. Rather, the natural hesitation of one who wants too much.
Love letter # 678
Today would have been 25 years for you and I. Never mind that it’s not – for that lovely fire around which we first gathered as barely more than moths – still burns in its hearth. I know that you know this, even if you do not think of it today: and this is why I can smile at the memory of that distant but still intoxicating flame. Because we made something everlasting from it. Not a home perhaps – but a promise unbroken. To love without fear and judgement. To know that our shadows are the evidence of our light. And that, at day’s end, when all the shouting is done, good hearts will find one another and share the beautiful quiet.
My love, as ever,
Love letter # 236
Now that I have seen your beauty – witnessed the deep and vulnerable things about you – how can I but shiver? How can I not know? You have shown me the spark in you – maybe seen the flame still burning in me – now we are the brightest star in the sky. Together, we have exploded. A universe from nothing. Or at least, that’s how I remember it.
Love letter # 233
In this fevered imagination of mine, I am in your arms. You are lying next to me, lips pressed onto mine, your eyes ablaze with the idea of us. We are beasts and beauties all at once, melted in the furnace of our touch. We sweat to be together. Sigh to be as one. Then sleep like angels sated. And on the morrow we awake – and know it to be true.
Love letter # 407
I hereby acknowledge the downside to my capacity for and desire to give and receive love. It has led me into serious misjudgement and involved me in psychologically damaging relationships. Furthermore, it has allowed poisonous opportunists to manipulate and abuse me. My affections have been toyed with and my openness and availability have made me vulnerable to users and liars.
For most of my adult life I have been repeating a relationship pattern that has been unfulfilling and ruinous. This is entirely my doing. My fault, my issue, my addiction. Indeed, much of what I have called love has in fact been neediness and approval seeking. A band aid for a pain lodged deep in my history and enshrined in my self-talk.
So now the time has come for me to write a love letter to myself. To take back the love I have offered to so many undeserving others and return it to the core. Not in a vain or protective way – not as armour or self-serving bias – but as nurture. As recognition. As a form of dignity.
There is no bitterness or reproach in this gesture – simply an honest appraisal. It is time to flip the dynamic. Instead of making myself struggle uphill to earn a little self-honouring and giving my heart away too easily to others, I’m moving the goal posts. From this day forth I shall make it my goal to love myself more easily – more compassionately – and to make others prove their worth.
If my love has been a cheap trinket until today, from now it shall be a jewel. Precious and of inestimable value – and not lightly or reflexively given away.