Love letter # 482

Once we sang along. We were amazing. We did amazing things. Did we ever believe it, or did we always know? Look now in the mirror, my love…there is the truth of us. In cold glass. Our ordinary outcome.

We said a lot of things. They did not come to pass. Promises we made; unkept. Dreams we fashioned in the brilliant glare of our desire; rendered real and far less wonderful. Now we sit and look at lovers.

Suppose we swept this median clutter aside, refused the fate of laundries and the routine repetitions of begrudging favour and pallid anniversary? What if we looked up, there to see the blue, blue sea…the liberating distance?  We could go there now. One more extraordinary act.

Ours may have been the hubris of a hunger untamed, yet in the rubble of temples even fallen gods may emerge into the promise of the empty vale. Let us leave not even footprints. Only the amazing quiet.

Look now into the summer sky. There it is. Not made of anything. Least of all you and me. A light without shadow. Form without form. We could go there now…and leave the laundry in its pile.





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