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.

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