FREE LOVE LETTERS

Author: Paul Ransom

  • Love letter 969

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    Young once. Alive, dangerous, enthralling. How readily I fell. Scarcely believing that one such as you would spare a second for someone like me. So long ago now. Dust gathered in the hollow of our ardour. Blurred memory in the place of blue sky hope. Yet I will not regret. Not ever. How could I?…

  • Love letter # 260

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    You will never know, even if I tell you; because it is indescribable.

  • Love letter # 114

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    I have you in my blood now, sticking to my skin, hovering like the weight of space in my chest. We are far apart, yet…you…physically present. Like the soft glisten of gold summer in slate hard winter. Aching quietly, I vault the sea in frictionless fantasy. Then, with relief – with a recognition that defies…

  • Love letter # 763

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    There was a distance. It was where we lived.

  • Love letter # 627

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    You whispered your secrets in another language, yet still I heard. I replied in my own fumbling tongue, yet you seemed to know. Even now, distant, your quiet murmurs echo in my heart. We may be apart, but still we move in time.

  • Love letter # 193

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    God, I was so full of desire. Truly, I did not know what for. I thought it was for you. And then it went. But not before you. For what seemed like an eternity – yet was a blink – I poured it all into the space you vacated. It did not fill. Still, it…

  • Love letter # 602

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    We all love. At least until we are broken. All of us give and, in turn, will be forsaken. We each have wounds, and leave our scars on others. You and I were no different. Ordinary angels. Fallen once more. Across the beautiful brutality of time, with futile longing, I sense your impossible distance. And…

  • Unnumbered

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    Yes, even as the first letters emerge, this missive is redundant. A reduction. Language, a fraction. Unnecessary. Yet, these tools, inadequate, are what I have. For there is a voice, and it wishes to speak. Not so as to be heard, rather to feel what is being said. To be the channel. Bear witness. Here,…

  • Love letter # 742

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    The evening was soft. As you once sighed. The pop songs played, the voices grew loud, the drinks flowed. Meanwhile, the air…somehow redolent of you. A tactile transportation. Under the cover of noise, I slipped away. To be with you again. Alone.

  • Love letter # 12

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    Anywhere. Anytime. In any language. For any reason. Without caveat. That is all. Nothing else.