FREE LOVE LETTERS

Author: Paul Ransom

  • Love letter # 66

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    In the end, it was too much. There was not a single cause, rather an accumulation, an erosion. Perhaps it was merely the result of growing up and apart. Or maybe we got off on the wrong foot, dazzled by lust, sold on the romantic ideal. Reality, it would now appear, showed us for who…

  • Love letter # 292

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    It was not obvious. No fireworks. It came on like seasons do. A scent, a quality of light, a change in mood. Next, I turned around, and there it was. All over me. Flowing through me. And there was no way to unknow it. Now I cannot recall what came before. Another world. Not this…

  • I was not worthy of you

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    Of the language I was assured, of the gestures an adept. Acts of affection and generosity, flights of desire, sighs of apology…all these I did. But I did not listen. I swore that I saw you, heard you, accepted you. Perhaps I believed it when I said it. But none of it was true. What…

  • Love letter # 543

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    The sun was less incisive today. As I walked in your shadow. First sight of autumn. In the full bright of summer.

  • Love letter # 166

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    My senses swirl around you. Picture you in minute detail, carve you in feeling, fill the air with your voice. I carry you with me as scent. Memory. Desire. I feel for you in the space beside me; trace your outline in thin air. Even the emptiness, the quiet, the absence…these too are renderings of…

  • Love letter # 817

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    There was a line in a Hindi film. How beautiful it is to long for you. Hearing it, I knew. The sweetness I feel. The narcotic scent of it, like a forest. I know that I am lost in it sometimes. That I want it so. Never to be found, always to wander. Never to…

  • Love letter # 553

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    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

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    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

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    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

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    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,…