FREE LOVE LETTERS

Author: Paul Ransom

  • Love letter # 1.618

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    There are no gods. No higher purposes. No hidden meanings to discern. Nothing other than you. I have walked countless roads, worn many masks. There have been a thousand pretenders. Incomplete and unbelievable truths. Vanity and denial dressed up as wisdom. Yet none have blinded me to you. You have been my light. My cynosure.…

  • Am I loveless?

    Am I loveless?

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    Always the scent of flowering. The heady onset. Yet, this season…the slow swoon of distance. The undeniable space between fire and ash. I yearn…but for no one. They are all gone. Ancient darlings, possible flames. Instead, I walk along the road of last year’s ardour. Further away than ever. Little more than syllables now. Bittersweet…

  • Love letter # 541

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    I carry the memory in my breath. On my skin. As a live current in my wires. Our first giddy weeks. The entire universe transformed. The clatter of living rendered symphonic. The beauty of it still draws tears from dry recollection. Acting like fools, feeling like gods. Somehow above everything. Immune. No matter that we…

  • Love letter # 610

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    I have been a selfish lover. Sorry I did not realise it sooner. I genuinely thought I was being sensitive. Attentive. Inventive. Perhaps to some degree I was, but I see now that the focus has always been on my own pleasure first. In effect, I have not been a fully present partner, and I…

  • An honest dating app profile

    An honest dating app profile

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    Met a lady over coffee today. She smiled, flirted. Said, “You look like an artist.” Am I, I wondered, or just a cliche?   She wanted to know what apps I used. Which way did I swipe? “I don’t,” I said. A few minutes later she enquired, “So…you’ve been single quite a while now, haven’t…

  • Love letter # 1201

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    Now is the melancholy season. You…and you…and you. All my flowers. Your glory, your brightness, your turning. The inevitability of damp earth. The wheel, once more, in its orbit. I am, by slow degrees, uplifted and crushed beneath. Where, from the soil, I shall rise to sing your name once more. As I do now.

  • Love letter # 663

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    I write this letter to myself. To remind me. Today, for the first time since farewell, for a quiet minute or so, we did not think of her. Thus, it begins. The end.

  • Love letter # 526

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    There are a thousand reasons not to proceed. Nearly all of them are other people’s. Only one of them, fear of judgement, is ours. However, at this juncture, we may be better advised to think of the reasons to go ahead. Others may be disappointed if we choose one another, yet how will we feel…

  • Love letter # 594

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    Often, I wonder…how do you know? These are things you could only see from the sky. Like my complicity. The shortfalls in my soul. Yours must be a merciful eye. More so than mine. At times, I am shamed by the disparity. Yet you forgive; or at least, understand and have patience. If I have…

  • Love letter # 568

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    What I like most about you is your electricity. Your energy, your vivacity, the way you shine at night. Though this can be alienating, and hard to keep up with, it is never dull. You have a splendid movement, a form of aliveness that draws me in. Even when I turn my eyes from you,…