Love letter # 318
Looking out over the glassy sheen of the bay earlier – people walking along the shore, the air as soft as it’s been for months – and there you were. In the crack between seasons. Through a window in a wall of time. Winter verging on spring. Afternoon fading into evening. Cool blue light to mellow gold. Love on the fringes of despair.
Has it really been so long?
It was this time of year. You like the promise of flowers. An angel in the pale, warm light. Your eyes like a fire – burning me up. Your kiss like the heavenly flood. Me gone to water.
Tonight, I swear, you are with me. I am inhaling you like incense. My memory electric. Tiny shivers on my forearms. Wondering where you are. Knowing that all this is merely the visitation of an edited ghost – a narcotic trail of heady vapour stripped of all its contradictory detail – but swooning in it anyway. Just like my first sight of you. That moment when we both knew something that no one else had ever dreamed of. When we made the whole world new with our intemperate love.
And now … here it comes. The inevitable night. With its veil of emptiness.
Love letter # 349
I understand that things like love and beauty and truth are almost absurdly romantic notions in a world obsessed with attainment and spectacle. I can already see you wincing at their mere mention. Yet still I shall kindle the flame for you. And if, for this poetic folly, I shed a few tears and lose a little skin, so be it. For I would rather go to the cross for the fire than subsist on the crumbs of a cold compromise I can no longer endure.
Love letter # 575
So now it has come to this. A wish to forget. To wipe clean the slate. To pass through the wall of remembering, with all its built up, sedimentary longing, and emerge stripped and minimal on the other side of you.
The shape of your name in my mouth – the sense of you which I conjure so readily – the memory of hands that ripples on my skin – the glow of a fire in my veins … these things I shall set aside. These I shall abandon to the distance of forgetting. No more a song, not even a whisper. Just the liberty of silence. Just the space where you stood.
For there not even ghosts shall linger.
I have loved you in such a way – so utterly – with everything there is. It has been my choice to do so; and I have been free to stop at any time. You have never tied me down. You were only beautiful. I only had eyes.
Eyes I now close. Eyes that will open again soon – looking elsewhere. Into the cleanliness of nowhere. Not even the trace of a footprint. Or a shaping of sand. Or a word that sounds remotely like you.
For then I shall forget. And begin.
Love letter # 393
I would have waited a hundred years for someone like you – but you are already here. Wave of exultation. Obliterating light. Storm of splendour. And I am washed away. Running in the river with you. Falling back to the centre. Returning to the great nothing. To the sublime and beautiful union of emptiness. With your name as my guide.
Love letter # 460
I think of you and I wonder if you think of me. Actually, I’m fairly sure you don’t because, despite the obviously deep connection we share when we’re alone, you have made it plain that this will not spur you into action. Again, I have cause to wonder. Why? What stops you? Is it simply something about me or do you sit behind a line of deeply ingrained fear and doubt?
Then again – maybe you’re just faking it. Maybe that’s why you blank me in public. Eyes like walls. Not even a flicker. All that lovely nearness banished. As though I had imagined it.
Could well be that I’m a fool for falling for your ‘soulmate’ routine. For answering your calls. For opening up a door to my heart.
That’s it, isn’t it? I shouldn’t be pondering your motivations, I should be questioning mine. I could start by asking myself if I am prepared to spend any more time and energy on this. I could wonder instead if this was worth another syllable.
Yet even if it does stop here – right here in the next minute – the love won’t. Because I don’t fake things like that. So the only difference will be that I too will not be spurred into action. So now we can both be blank. Cleaner that way.