All posts by Paul Ransom

Love letter # 99

My friends think I’m mad – but really I’m just stripped. All the bullshit layers have been blasted away. All the smug, self satisfied, middle class, male posturing has been shown to be a lie. My so called strength – it was just the bravado of weakness.

There was a castle wall; it is now rubble. There was a front; it is now last year’s comedy.

When you looked at me like that, when you sighed that sigh, I was weak. I was free. I was pitched out of the aircraft.

Yes, I was out of control. I apologise – but I had never cared so much. Never been so irrational. So immediate. So alive.

When you were in the room I was all electric. All my control mechanisms failed. I was like the river – bound for the sea.

I know it seemed ridiculous – how do you think I felt? I don’t blame you for leaving – but God I wish you hadn’t.

I miss you tonight. The space where you would have been is filled with silence – so loud. Sometimes I am deafened by your absence.

A little voice inside me says I shouldn’t be writing this. But it helps to say it. Please forgive me. I only loved you.

And maybe that’s what this is all about. I know that beautiful words won’t get you back – even if I wish they would – but I refuse to yield to the standard issue bitterness. Your leaving is not a disqualifier. I love you because there is a beauty inside you – not just because I wish you were my girl.

My friends can say what they like. I know they mean well. But I will say only this: for you my love, almost anything.

Including silence.

Love letter # 9

Someone lit a match, brought a little flame to life. Was it you? Was it me?

Tell me how to interpret this, for I have lost my reason. It vanished in your proximity. Those eyes, that mouth. The curve of you.

God, I can still smell you – I stole these atoms from your breath and scurried off with them. And from your casual touch … well, I cannot say.

I tried to let you know – if you would, I would. Now, an hour afterwards, I have no idea. That disobedient grin – were you … ?

I am literally shaking now – a once proud man made of hunger. I maybe delusional but I want you. If I could kiss that spot between your shoulder blades, if I could curl your fingers.

If only you were near enough to hear the whispers.

When I am done with this damned typing I will seek recourse in drink to drown this demon. It will put me to sleep and I will wake up tomorrow slightly fuzzy – but sane.

Unless of course I dream of you.

Love letter # 1

You won’t read this so I won’t lie.

This is love without hooks, without points of order.

But what becomes of love when it’s dammed? Does it pour through cracks? Does it threaten sudden inundation?

I can answer only by saying that the secret unleashing of floods is a euphoric liberation. It is the beauty that despair becomes. It is the light that shines when you’re not here.

So maybe this is it – some kinda wild river. I know I promised not to mention it but a dumb wall cannot hold back such a beautiful rush. Right beneath my fingertips visceral, unreasoning, eternally narcotic glory is triumphing over text book ordinariness.

When I fell for you I was uplifted.

And your not being here, your not responding – it has done nothing to quiet that inspired song. I hear it in every silence. It sits behind my edifice of pretence; my pretending to be okay. It will not keep quiet and neither will I.

But you will get no cards. You will receive no flowers. I will not call you. I will not beseech you. I will become a figure of memory – someone you once knew.

But I will walk away singing.

For love that does not even whisper is wont to become poison in the veins – and I would rather have the golden light. Even if the price is a fire. Even if I lose the distinction between ecstasy and despair.

Why be mad for trinkets when you can be mad for angels?

Through some strange gate you found your way inside me. Your temporary tenderness kicked over the traces. The brakes stopped working – and in their place … flight.

Falling. Splendour and terror. A magnificent dissolution. An unexpurgated version.

This gift you accidently gave to me. Your warm ardour, your momentary faith in me – it changed the way I breathe. And my love for you suffuses everything to this minute. Even when I’m begging not to feel, even when the blood is sticky and my fingers are trembling, even as I drink to forget.

How can I be quiet when there is music in everything?

So here I am – blurting to the safe ether. Letting the dam burst wash me to the sea. I can tumble in that crazy deluge knowing that at least I’m getting somewhere.

See – much better to type it out than to fence it in.

Love is too vast for silence. An ocean too big for a teaspoon.

Love letter # 77

Bercasue of you – all of this.

I know – ridiculous. I shudder when I hear myself think it but here I am saying it out loud. All for you.

Previous reasons – they were vanity. Ego seeking itself.

Now that I love you the whole world is transformed – and beauty is the temple of you. Here I am, knowing more than myself at last, afraid and exhilarated, washed clean and re-dressed.

Yesterday I walked in the desert, thirsty and not even knowing it. Today I am here with you. This time the mirage kept its promise – and I am almost drunk for drinking.

I used beg for love – now I give it freely.

Everything – all my art, all my striving, every beautiful thing I try to make – they are all born of my love.

The old me would have laughed – but he’s not me anymore. Yes, I understand his objections – but yes, yes, yes my love … I do.

Love letter # 49

If only you could feel the fire – then you would know – and I wouldn’t need these tepid stand-ins, these words that say nothing.

I have no langauge for these tides. This ocean will not fit into a cup.

I would fumble. You would run. I would seem mad. You would seem cruel. Fear would win.

Better to love you quietly tonight. Wiser to forget where the phone is.

I might pray instead – seek the elusive favour of angels – speed some helpful cupid your way. They would say it better than me. They would let you know.

Until then … just words – and their stubborn little sibling. Hope.

Love letter # 15

It started with a fire. A fire in my heart. And all my smart tricks turned to ash. I thought I was the king of everything – and then there was you – beautiful, beautiful, beautiful angel.

And now I am breathless. Now I am a feather on the breeze. Now I am the dancer – and you the song, you the sound of wonder. Even on my knees I am flying.

Tonight I walked in luminous golden vespers, in velvet evening. With my music. With my dreams of you, my love. And when it rained, I danced between the droplets – as though to hold you in my arms.

In the soft kiss of evening I felt you beside me; I could almost smell you. Your feminine power made my poor boy blood thicken. If there is a god – she is a goddess.

All that male arrogance – my so called vision of things – my pristine ordered cosmos – its stones are strewn about.

I walk now in a lovely desert of cinders, where detail melts to heat, where horizons blur the boundaries. In this smudged terror, in this new cathedral – oh my beauty, you are the queen. These tears are but jewels. Euphoria is despair.

When I love you I am without sin. When I love you everything is in sync. So what if there’s a cut or five. A little blood on the lino. Damn the cowards. What do they know?

Burn everything.

If there is a wall, it is folly. Reduce the streets to scratches. Make nothing that is not made of love.

And now … I type. Splendour into syllables. Words in semi darkness. I have no idea where you are other than in my heart. I dance my half of our dance because it is still wonderful.

Here in the golden light – here in the golden light … your breath on my neck – your kisses sweet.

But before you click away from this; I know I this seems unhinged. I still have those Western eyes. Two and a half years ago I too would have scoffed.

I know better now.

Love letter # 21

Heaven is made up of ordinary treasures – like your breathing as you sleep next to me – like the scent of you in the darkness.

You are the one.

This must be what miracles are – under this roof with you. I feel the warmth of your skin – your nearness like opium. I can scarcely believe it.

You are the one.

I came here to shiver – to surrender – to wake up in your presence. I am the lucky one.

And you are the one.

Love letter # 2

I saw you today – and I know you saw me. Your eyes gave you away.

I saw your shoulders turn to rock. I felt the blade of your contempt. I did not hide from it.

If you want your measure of blood, let me tell you – this floor is scarlet. I am not too proud – and I know what a broken heart is. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone – and you were never just anyone.

I know you won’t believe it – but I wish you would. I wasn’t cruel I was just stupid. Hurt maybe – scars leftover. Sorry that I passed them onto you.

But please don’t re-write history. It was real. I loved you. I wanted you. It was wonderful. I wasn’t lying when I said you were my angel.

I remember the tenderness in your eyes – the softness in you. I pray it’s still there. Walk away with the beautiful bits – leave the shit behind.

Love letter # 101

How could I have known that my ten o’clock would turn out to be you.

I had no defences deployed – no armour against eyes. Nothing could have prepared me for your gorgeous mouth, the curve of your shoulders, the hint of freshly showered skin. Now I’m butterflies.

Or perhaps I’m just an overly optimistic angler, misinterpreting tugs as bites. Maybe you’re like this with everyone.

I’ve been around long enough to have no idea.

I look at the scar lines etched all over me and I wonder if I can bear another. I wonder if no is worth the chance of yes. Or vice versa.

I have your number. I could call you this minute. I’m sure I could invent a pretext.

Ah, but the sensible adult thing would be to do nothing; to mark it down to the enervating effects of spring sunshine and good coffee. Safer that way. I walk off with a little caffeinated buzz on – maybe catch you in the course of things and see if those opal eyes are still flashing lovely fire at me.

Either way, beauty is transforming and you have changed my day – probably my week. In all likelihood these syllables will vanish into meek but totally mature silence and neither of us will ever have to be embarrassed.

But just in case …

Love letter # 38

Before you were someone else’s wife, before I was a ruin, we were children.

You are a distant angel, carved out of memory. It seems impossible that you are now only half an hour away – that you will be seated across from me. I will walk in that door, I will spot you, you will smile. Maybe you will brush your hand across the back of mine.

I never said it then – I never could. The words got mired in my dread. I adored you.

Okay, it was a hormonal teenage thing – but even now I can feel it in my body. It is a tide. It is the ocean itself.

I’ve seen your picture online – I know what the years do to a beautiful face. But I wonder – do the years put out fires? Perhaps we just retreated into the surrounding dark and left the embers glowing. Perhaps this is the morning.

Forgive me if I get ahead of myself. I bear no expectation – it’s simply that the long silent sweetness wants to whisper through the tiny cracks, to at least exhale its tender treasure.

And that is what is this letter is for. I hope that I have courage to give it to you.

There – I said it.