FREE LOVE LETTERS

Author: Paul Ransom

  • Love letter # 325

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    If you touch me I am sure I will promptly dissolve. If you take me in your arms I may just break. That’s how it feels – almost asphyxiating in your presence, wondering where to look, what to do, how not to melt into a formless mess. You see this kind of thing in films,…

  • Love letter # 592

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    At the time I was blind. Just acting. Reacting. Blundering hurt and foolish. Doing things I never should. Saying stuff I didn’t really mean. Or now wish that I hadn’t. Because I felt out of control I tried to impose a form of control on you. All the usuals: blackmail, pity seeking, stubborn refusals and…

  • Love letter # 408

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    You. Who else? What other reason could there be? Please don’t pretend you aren’t aware. Don’t add that disingenuous veil of denial to the mix. It’s bad enough as it is – seeing you, having you near me. Those eyes, that smile. You see, I know you don’t mean it. You do it because you…

  • Love letter # 366

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    I never really stopped loving you. Didn’t get the chance to. Which leaves the memory of you relatively untarnished; still lustrous, still the nigh miraculous possibility. The drudgery of years and the cooling of fires never applied to you. You left before ordinary set in. Maybe that was prescient of you. In the silence that…

  • Love letter # 440

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    I could say it in a million ways but it always comes back to this: I love you. What does that mean? To be honest, I can’t pin it down – but I can sure feel it. This love, whatever it is, is as obvious as breath, as vital as blood. It is in me.…

  • Love letter # 859

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    It is the promise of your kiss; the dream of waking up next to you. So primal, so powerful. Such humbling animal gravity. There really isn’t much more I can say.

  • Love letter # 559

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    This evening, amidst the detectable softening of winter and the sweet aromatic emergence of spring, I felt you on my skin. Or was it your absence that quickened my senses? The vacated space you formerly inhabited, the quiet that once resonated with your proximity. Was the scented air in my nostrils the remnant mist of…

  • Love letter # 497

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    So there’s this girl. Lithe, slender. Maybe a little melancholy. She likes to wear charcoal black jeans. She lets her long hair flow whenever she can. And then there are her eyes – illuminated with fires I recognise. I wonder sometimes: is she is looking into me? Showing me a sign. Holding out the possibility.…

  • Letter to the lighter of 500 fires

    Letter to the lighter of 500 fires

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    It was on a night like this. That’s when it all began; and everything before it ended. Ten years ago, almost to the hour. We were gathered for your birthday. You were turning 22. I was nearly twice that. At some point, prompted by you, we snuck away from the party and you said, “You…

  • Love letter # 435

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    You passed me on the stairs and, over shoulders, with half turns, our eyes locked. I spied you in the corner of a room, your thoughts in clouds, looking as though you knew. I watched you as you walked – and as you drew near. We very nearly brushed against each other. Like me, you…