Love letter # 538

It was not deliberate – but it was careless. There was no cruelty intended – but I was thoughtless. Selfish. If I was confused, unsure, so too was I churlish. Acting out.

No matter…the house is now burnt. A storm has raged its way across our home, such that it has become a shell. Walls and spaces. Faint echoes of erstwhile joy. In the empty air, resounding.

We destroy with our passion. Lay waste with the distortions of our ill-proportioned love. We made a sanctuary to wage our tiny war. Here is the memorial. Sterile. Still born.

If I were the bigger man, I would leave in silence. But I am small and greedy and broken, still begging. For something I cannot name, simply crave. As though the impossible were in your gift.

I heaped my gathered folly at your door, hoping you would redeem it. And when, like me, you turned out to be fractured, I blamed you for the multiple cracks. How wrong I was.