Author: Paul Ransom

  • Love letter # 451

    I am sending you this with some reservation; not because I harbour any shame but because I realise that the culture of suspicion we currently live in does not really encourage us to express ourselves in this fashion. Especially one as old as me to one so young as you. However, I am not writing…

  • Love letter # 498

    Though I may have behaved badly, please do not doubt my love – or at least my honest belief that this is what this feeling is. I am flawed. I get angry and jealous and can be petty, insecure and controlling. All these things were in me before you came along – perhaps they will…

  • Love letter # 364

    Forgive me, but there is a dreadful song that reminds me of us. It was a summer hit back when lust and opportunism threw us into bed and into our brief, optimistic affair. But hey, we were kids and hormones and hope were enough to obscure what we always knew to be true – that…

  • Love letter # 480

    You are beautiful in a way that defies all but the most animal logic. Much as I might try to arm myself against your pulchritude with reason or politically correct sensibility, your light shines right through the million cracks in my ridiculous defence. Even my hard earned trepidations about ‘falling for someone again’ are skirted…

  • Love letter # 346

    It is not simply that I love you but that, in you, I am the act of love. Your eyes turn me into light, your voice into song. When you move I am the dance – and when you leave I am the distance between stars. But your touch … now I am the very…

  • Love letter # 409

    There is always a certain moment in the changing of the seasons, when the first soft afternoon of spring fills the air with scent and beautiful light, when I am once again the young and hopeful fool who sat beside you in the dappled sunshine. I breathe in, and my body remembers the electric shiver…

  • Love letter # 357

    Love is one of those words – ideas, tropes, clichés – that gets misused all the time. Mistaken for lust and ownership, dependence and habit. We have, I’m certain, each been guilty of all of the above. Yet still we remain, despite the inadequacy of words and the grind of years. In spite of all…

  • Love letter # 502

    In the beginning there was a kind of blindness. In the end I was staring at wreckage. In between there was you. Or rather, the manner of my breaking open upon your touch. The dumbstruck awe, the distemper of desire, the sheer terror that only beauty can evince. You came, I fell at your door,…

  • Ode to the checkout chick

    I know I’m not the first single, middle aged guy to be smitten by the shopgirl thing – and I’m sure I won’t be the last. Especially if the girl in question is as gorgeous as you. It’s true I barely know you – just a name badge and beautiful smile – and I’m guessing…

  • Love letter # 323

    Your walk. The hypnotic sway of it. The quiet way you dance, eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to anything but the ecstasy of music. The subtlety of your smile. How you seem to know something the rest of us don’t. And then there’s the distance. That spectral horizon your eyes always drift out towards. As though…