FREE LOVE LETTERS

Category: Nostalgic

  • Love letter # 94

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    Now…so far away, I sense you near. Subtle gravity. Absent presence. A part of me still resides with you. Something left behind. Will I ever return to collect it? Or will this paper cut bleed until I am dry? Shall they bury me in the ground of your memory? Today, I cannot say. I walk…

  • Love letter # 16

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    A thousand years ago, or so it seems, I held you ever so briefly, and you, blooming, melted with me. In the eye of a loving god we were one, formed together. Yet that was barely a flicker in the scorch of years. Seeing you now, everything altered, everything as it was, ancient tenderness fills…

  • Love letter # 64

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    Since you. Most days. I am the near neighbour of melancholy muses. I hear them clearly. Voices in the dwelling of sorrow. Calling out my name. The sirens of improbable distance. Like today. Sadness descending, sensuous like the humid warmth of a cloudy summer day. The lustrous embrace of separation. I was in public. I…

  • Love letter # 542

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    There are certain forms of beauty – nature, music – that bring me back to you; and in doing so make plain the bittersweet breadth of the distance between us. Yet, in these moments, you fill that space, the valley of time, and, by some fanciful conjuring, collapse the years to the nearness of touch.…

  • Love letter # 541

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    I carry the memory in my breath. On my skin. As a live current in my wires. Our first giddy weeks. The entire universe transformed. The clatter of living rendered symphonic. The beauty of it still draws tears from dry recollection. Acting like fools, feeling like gods. Somehow above everything. Immune. No matter that we…

  • I remember sunburnt shoulders

    I remember sunburnt shoulders

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in , , ,

    When I heard that you died, I felt your leaving like a layer of absence, as though a sliver had been excised. The loss of you is subtly haunting, a faint resonance in a largely vacated space. Decades ago, in our shared boyhood, we ran through the carefree hours between schooling and nascent adulthood. Before…

  • Love letter # 593

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    The story was intoxicating. The legend of us. The way we got together. Such a dream team. Damn that reality. Now I am not sure I ever loved you, nor you me. Our darling was the romance; the fact and fiction of finding each other. For years, it was enough. Until it wasn’t. In the…

  • Love letter # 546

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    Autumn. Evening. Dusk like scented smoke. Soft chill. Like the way you once sighed; and I so nearly touched you. But didn’t. A petal shivering. Tear of dew on downy skin. As though anything firmer than quiet longing would turn the bloom to dust. I heard the wave of your breath crashing. The tide receding.…

  • Love letter # 596

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    I went through the things recently, the assorted goods and chattel of living, and I threw most of it out. Dusty leftovers of erstwhile passions, the surplus machines of modern domesticity, the souvenir trinkets of memories already smudged. Then, when I surveyed the surviving pile, I knew without counting that it was you. Here, these…

  • Love letter # 534

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    An old song – one you introduced me to – and an idea. You breathe through the lyrics, and I feel again what I used to feel. The swoon. Your intoxicant promise. In a click I am searching you. What was last thing we said, typed? The slow, email coda of a mad immolation. How…

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