FREE LOVE LETTERS

Author: Paul Ransom

  • Love letter # 553

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    Over time, small departures accrue. Mundane separations feeling somehow important. Leaving little dents in me. Rents in the fabric of self-reliance. As you have now done, without even realising. Not your fault, nor your problem. My softly spoken sorrow. My unmeasured distance from the memory of touch. Our polite farewell feels like tearing because it…

  • We will trump them with our kindness

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    For most of us, there are no bully pulpits. We command neither armies nor billions. There are no algorithms to do our bidding, no mastheads to shout on our behalf. We wear not crowns or robes, nor other vestments. We are not the shining stars. I am not the name on your lips. From where…

  • Love letter # 744

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    You can tell. I sense it in your smile, the way you linger. You know I’ve noticed. Or think I have. Something makes you pop. Cooler, brighter, more alive. An essence, a hidden something? When we connect, however briefly, it feels like a leap. We vault the gaps that others disappear into. Yet I have…

  • Love letter # 138

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    Earlier, sitting where you used to, watching, I saw right through them. The crowds, so busy. Anything but stop and notice. Rush, swipe, buy. The dazzle of distraction. And there, in the hollow, I felt the space you have now vacated. Your imprint, so subtle, very nearly nothing at all. A kindness, a reminder. Later,…

  • Love letter # 666

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    I wanted to press you against me. Feel your warmth and solidity. The better to know you were real. That I was. I wanted to pour myself into you. Merge with you. Open the floodgates. I did not care what anyone thought. In the gravity of embrace, we fell, and our blood ran together. I…

  • Love letter 1094

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    The silence is so merciful. It is only us, with our remorseless chatter, who judge. Cut down. Categorise. The hate is ours. The self-loathing. The fear. The grasping. The looking away. The denial. We may, on occasions, find the strength for vulnerability and love. The grace to forgive. The humility to recognise. So too we…

  • Love letter # 752

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    In the flush of this desire, I vanish. There is only falling. I have tried to rationalise it, explain it away, but longing is a language beyond the temptation of thought. Yet, I shall not call it madness, nor offer it as absolution. If, in its wildness, it feels compelled to feed, then let it…

  • Love letter # 582

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    Time heals, so they say, yet it does not erase. For it is hard to delete an absence. Much has changed since we parted ways but the valley you carved has remained. It traces the frontier in my life. Before/after. In truth, I never got over it. Yes, I moved on, I functioned, and I…

  • Love letter # 611

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    There is a break-up arithmetic. It is an accounting of sorrows, a logging of bruises. As though the tagging of evidence might alter anything. As if the apportioning of blame can dam the flow of blood. This is the useless math of injustice and validation. The numbers say almost nothing about the skin in the…

  • Love letter # 583

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    Today it hurts. Feels like a spiral, something on repeat. As though fated. A punishment. But you can let it go. All of it. Imagine. There is a wave. Open out to it. Let it wash through. Strip away the layers. And it will. And when all the old rooms have been cleared, you will…