Love letter # 471

They don’t know – but we do. That’s what marks us out from them. They respond to the truth with pacification, denial and judgement. And worse – advice. What we have they can only guess at. It’s why they think we’re strange. Cast their sideways glances.

Yet what they may never work out is that we can tell – and that now we have found one another we are immune. In fact, we are not even surprised anymore. We just send little signs across the ether – just to make sure we’re on the same page. Which we always are.

Everyone sees that we’re together but not how we’re together. In this way, our public love is really secret. The source of our unity beyond the standard conventions and corruptions. It’s not that we’re superior. Just that we know. That we have felt. And that we are no longer afraid. Of anything. Least of all them.

Advertisements

Love letter # 389

It was a just a random thought. Something in the ether had brought you to mind – and then there was a flood, sweet like oblivion, and I was in the trance of remembering. Almost with you once more.

What struck me was how physical it was. It was as though I could sense the gravity of you next to me. Feel the fire in your gaze. Hear the lovely crackle of your smile. Know the warm scent of your arm across my shoulders.

I know it’s all been said before – but still the power of it catches my breath. Still I shiver with the sheer downhill rush of loving you. Still my walls are breached. For a moment I am mad like I was when we were crazy together. Utterly undone by a beauty I could not contain with explanation.

Perhaps it does not matter that we did not make it work – for even if for a solitary season we both knew everything worth knowing. And all the songs were ours. How can I possibly forget, when even a hint of your ghost has me dancing like this again?

Love letter # 1000

Let’s call this the end, shall we? Pack up our dreaming and go. Leave the scatterlings behind. All the odds and ends of our years. The ashes of our love and the exhausted batteries of our resistance to time’s inevitable and heedless smear of dust and forgetting.

Once we had a thing – a pact almost – an understanding formed in similarity. Together we held off the ravages of the world. Though we were surrounded by the stupid and the selfish, the vain and the righteous, there was a shield around us. A force we steeled with our dark hearted passion. With our particular and idiosyncratic take on the madness. Outside, cruelty, fear and denial reigned – but we dwelt in a house made of love. It was the only place we felt safe. The only room we were allowed.

But it is shattered now. The world has crushed its lovely walls to bits. Shaken us from our idyll. Made it plain that we have never, and most likely will never fit. What we hold sacred, the world thinks naive. And that magnificent fire we stood by – even we have fled from the intensity of its flame. As if somehow the dark and the cold would stop the black bells ringing in our ears. In our hearts.

Well it hasn’t, has it? For theirs is the music we will always dance to. Theirs the brutal beauty that sings from the heart of everything.

We have lived in the space where ecstasy and despair coalesce and we have surrendered to the awesome wave. And it was merciful. And we were blessed.

But we are alone now. All the gorgeous songs have turned to schlock. The promise to compromise. The golden light to stark white globes.

I really can’t be fucked with this anymore. Can you? If the banal and the dull and the unfeeling must triumph, let them celebrate their victories without us. What need have we to applaud their tacky tricks and trinkets? Pin the medals to their chests, load them up with gold, furnish their prisons with shine. Their gods are not mine.

Rather our foolish love than their heartless jargon. Rather the unhinged narrative of our silly little vision than the clear eyed blindness we once chose to see through. Even though it has brought us to this.