Love letter # 381
I keep looking at that photo – the one where your eyes loom out of the crowd, looking straight down the barrel, enigmatic smile on your kissable lips. I keep wondering what you were thinking and why you seem to be looking right through me. Or if I’m just a delusional fool who is being tricked by your beauty into dreaming something too wonderful to ever be true. And then I look again – and I am all sea once more. Swimming in this fantasy of you.
Love letter # 256
You and I both know that there is no fairy tale – that these things move in cycles. From making me want to be the best I could be to accepting me at my worst, and vice versa, we have seen the beautiful and the busted. Yet here we are. Clinging to our life raft. The very idea of us.
Do we give it all up? Do we stay with a sinking ship? Or is there another way? A way back to the inspiration. Forward to something better. The richer, deeper more complete love that comes out of struggle; that is forged in the grind and toil of the everyday.
Let us at least agree that this is not a dream but rather, something we can make true if only we have the desire. Perhaps it has seemed for too long that I was not prepared to make the effort – but I’m telling you now that I am.
Yes, I have been a selfish, foolish, forgetful lover. For that I apologise unreservedly. However, now that we face the very real prospect of losing us, I am ready to step back from that pointless precipice. Whatever wars we have fought – and both lost – they are not worth all this blood on the floor. All those bright red stains on our character. They are not worth a single kiss from your lovely mouth. Not a single knowing look from your startling eyes.
We do have choices here. We are not victims. We have all the love in the world in our hearts. Will you dance again with me to its joyful beat – because I am here on my feet waiting for you to join me once more?
Love letter # 390
You should probably not touch me like that – nor stand so close – for you might start a fire that ends up with me in cinders.
It’s not you I’m worried about, it’s me. The way things go when this kind of heat gets into my blood.
Then again, if you have a mind to make a spark, maybe edge a little nearer. Put those gorgeous hands on me. Bring that splendid frame into my orbit.
Yet before you kiss me – or let me kiss you – understand that a kind of wildness is on the cards and that it will most likely be my heart on the line, not just my sex.
Love letter # 253
You who are my angel, you are my destroyer too – and I shall be neither the first nor the last to drown in the act of loving.
This is the vessel of my sorrow, the broken raft of my undelivered fury. Like nails in me. Pretty, pretty punctures leftover from your kiss.
How the stars have turned to darkness – and the darkness now to light. Burning out my eyes. Too bright to be denied.
The wave may be too strong this time; more than passing through. The ties that hold the walls in place are snapped and frayed and loose. Useless now. For things are coming to their pitch – the voices all at once. My usual tricks have had their play. See through, stupid games.
The pills, the lies, the stoic pose. No dam against this flood. The levee bank is leaking blood. How much shall drain away?
It is a dangerous path this one. My feet are landing blind. Salvation wears a frightful mask – a face so damned and strained – and I cannot tell which is which. So shall I have the grace to fall, to land where I shall land? To risk the breaking I have feared or the silence I have craved?