Love letter # 595
I woke up with my heart in pieces this morning – for in my dream I was by your side and you were like the angel I had always imagined. The girl who melted everything.
Yet you and I both know that in this more solid world such hazy visions do not withstand the force of human frailty. It is the irrefutable difference between these two poles – the hoped for and the actual – that broke me open. In the realm of sleep we loved each other; as though there were no lines between us. In the daylight we do not even speak.
Last night you said that you still loved me. In that sweet cloud I believed you. But of course, you never did. You simply tolerated me. Put up with a fool and his unwanted desires. Told whatever lies you felt were appropriate. For my part, I looked past all the evidence, blinded by hunger. By a weakness stronger than self-respect.
If you were the one who abused, I was the one who allowed it. Mine was the longing. The void. The loneliness. Yours was the air that rushed to fill the vacuum I created. You could have been more honest – much more so – but you were as beholden to your fears as I was to mine. Though I am not responsible for your appalling behaviour, I am 100% culpable in mine. I wanted that beautiful dream so much – that fantasy version of you – that in a way my folly engineered your Machiavellian response. Perhaps this is why my heart is breaking right now.
Or maybe because it took a dream for me to allow you the room to love me truly in return.
Love letter # 414
Forgive me – for I have been the fool of beauty. It has unwound me. Stripped me back. So much so that I wonder at its power.
What is this perfection of form, this ideal, that it so dissolves the structures of reason? How can a way of seeing, a kind of knowing, make so splendid the shape of the world that even though the sound mind senses the misty error of its perceiving, still it is swayed?
My years and all their collected and catalogued disappointments tell me that you are just one of many – another other, about which I know scarce more than optimism will contend – and yet … how you move in subtle glory. Fine of figure. Sweet of disposition. Sharp and quick of mind and humour.
Why is it that I would willingly blow my cover to show my heart to you? Why would I bend to shape of your touch? Kneel at the shrine of your kiss? Because there is something in beauty that must be revealed. Beheld.
We all are broken and corrupted creatures – yet in our beauty we are nigh divine. As you seem to me now. For here are the very bells – chiming like a song in your nearness – that have woken me from my sensible slumber and turned my maddened eyes to thee.
Love letter # 401
This is your time of year; the soft and quiet settling of winter. In your boots and scarves. Your alabaster skin in the pale and watery light. Dark eyes shining out of the mist. Warm breath foggy as you stand beside me. The promise of a hearth inside you. The welcoming crackle of your smile.
For when the early night falls and bare trees make bony lines in crisp moonshine, I am at one with you – wrapped in cosy arms. In the hibernating world, spring is being prepared – locked yet in damp ground – but there for all to know, should they wish to. And we do.
In this seasonal chill I celebrate the rich and earthy beauty of you. Where all else seems grey and uninspired, you come alive. Fleur d’hiver. Brighter than sky. Lighter still than the smoky, drifting mizzle of evening. Making everything gorgeous.
Love letter # 265
What was once a wind whipped, steely chill is now the softly folding mist. Hard edges turned to comfortable blur. The colour of memory wistful and lovely. Sad howl rendered mellow song.
They say ‘tis nothing more than time but I feel it is not so; for in this gentle distance circles the thankful breath of grace. The rhythm of a passion cooled – the life of a love still beating.
This is the calm of acceptance – a space where flowers bloom without the rigour of daily tending. It is the beauty we inherited from the respectful closing of the book that used to be you and me.
Once we had a fire. Now we have a warmth. Where once we fought over an impossible future, now we share the peace of a past that served us both well. This is a legacy at once more subtle and powerful than the mere passing of days – because like the light that drew us together, it is the steady and eternal beacon of harbour. And here, at last, no storms shall set these ships asunder.