FREE LOVE LETTERS

Author: Paul Ransom

  • Love letter # 545

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    I saw you in the evening. You turned your golden head toward me. Eternity moving slow. Some things you remember with the circle of breath.

  • Love letter # 514

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    I said, “Show me a sign.” You said, “There are no signs.” Of course. Only in the absence of signs. From here on, I shall practise emptiness, such that I may fill with your light unobstructed. Now I shall attend to the silence, such that I may know your quiet voice. Here I shall embody…

  • Love letter # 0.1

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    All the light did was shine. And there you were.

  • Love letter # 662

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    This noonday, on the Esplanade, overlooking the blue expanse, I travelled at the speed of sunshine. Across the bay of forgetting. The light must have been just so. Call it azure, cerulean, aquatint…it was the colour of belief. The belief that comes before knowing.    I was arrested mid-breath. The clatter of the day washed…

  • I know at last the power of not knowing

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in , ,

    You set in motion a chain of extraordinary events in me, by an act of authoring not yet fully understood. Perhaps it was simply something you allowed. In the space you created, the quiet had their say, the imperfect were permitted, the vain became irrelevant. And our fear turned to awe, thanks to a force…

  • Love letter # 478

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    Every year at this time I fall in love with you again. For a few weeks from mid-September my body remembers. Not in words or pictures. In quickening. A tension sweet and low and giddy. On bright evenings I breathe in honey. I glide, as though you had just bestowed your kiss upon me. In…

  • Behold them in the triumph of light

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    What now, if anything, shall we wrest from sediment? When the pretty lights have faded to fallen husk, what shall we make of burnt out shells? This, my love, is what awaits us this spring. In the garden of history, the archaeology of whispers. Here now, bones of fire. Brush the dirt from fragments, reconstruct…

  • Love letter # 467

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    In clear headed moments I know you no longer think of me as I still think of you; and I am fine with this. I do not seek to rewrite history. When you said you loved me, you meant it –  just as you did, minutes later, when you said you couldn’t stand me. We…

  • Love letter # 477

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    They don’t have to know the truth – just something they can believe that will make them leave us alone.

  • Now that I am here at last…

    Now that I am here at last…

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    …I am in awe of you once more, for you have saved me again. From that which, until this afternoon, I could barely bring myself to utter in thought. In the present flood, I adore you. To call it any less would be a lie. Back then, in the hazy remembering, where only certain things…