FREE LOVE LETTERS

Author: Paul Ransom

  • Love letter # 682

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    I tell myself things that are not true; so as not to fall in love with you. Because that I could not bear.

  • Love letter # 438

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    I came into being with your song in my soul. I walked so as to trace your footsteps. I spoke so as to know your voice. I am naked, such that I might feel your skin. I breath to have you inside me. I weep, in order that I might drink from your well. And…

  • Love letter # 544

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    So…this is what’s left. Words. Not even ink. Nor the slenderness of paper. Simply the flicker of pixels. Intangible, electric remnants. The shifting mystery of memory. A vague impression of scars. Once…a passion that seemed like eternity. Touch, warmth, knowing. Promises whispered, fulfilled in the cry of desire. Our beautiful island. A whole life imagined.…

  • Love letter # 436

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    Yes, that kind of evening. Heavy silk, the nearness of rain. Bare shoulders, a mist of sweat on your brow. In the golden light, the sculpture of your frame. At the dusk, your feather touch. In the dark, the song of sighs. Then, come morning, what remains? What of wonder, what of flames? Shall we…

  • Letter to the unrecognisable ex

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    After seeing you again the other day, I am now compelled. The sadness of the occasion, the shock of you. The way you screwed up your face, like an irritated child, and the bitterness that hardened your eyes and smelt like poison. At times, like hatred. Who is this imposter? I wondered. Where did the…

  • Love letter # 439

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    This evening, conjured by the angled sun, called up by the softening folds of seasonal air, you were with me once more. Present in my charged senses. Or rather, I was back there – then – decades evaporated – on the trundling red train, moving up the hill to your teenage welcome. Perhaps I should…

  • Love letter # 426

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    Here’s the thing: you’re beautiful. Maybe you know this already. Perhaps it is of no consequence; and I am merely one in a line. The cut/copy admirer with hungry eyes. Take a number. Then again, it might not be like that at all. My eyes may see you differently. Because your beauty is not a…

  • Love letter # 819

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    Today will always be the day. Corner turned. Stranger looming into view. Eyes in a crowd. Ignition. Nothing ever the same. What is it – this abrupt transition? Not just the blood in a rush, or the validating gaze of desire. Nor even the magnetic recognition and the promise it contains. Perhaps it is a…

  • Love letter # 423

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    I do not claim to know. Rather, I hope. I interpret what I believe to be the signs, yet I cannot know if I misread, or if my misty eyes are blind. However, in the light of such uncertainty, I ask myself this: how will it be if, years from now, I am still wracked…

  • Love letter # 484

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    You fan the flames that I cannot explain. You ignite stars that make nights into days. But I love your sadness most of all. That heavenly breaking, temptation to fall. The clunking of doors and the creaking of boards. Dust on the mirror and drafts in the hall. Like rain in the summer, such unlikely…