FREE LOVE LETTERS

Category: Nostalgic

  • Love letter # 56

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    They tell us all kinds of lies. It’s not that they are cruel, simply that they want us not to hurt so much. I have learnt to smile and nod. Bite my tongue. One of their favourites is: time heals. Yes, the years are a sticking plaster, a morphine drip – but where is this…

  • Love letter # 18

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    That song came on the air – you know the one – and I was plucked from the sky. In a beat I was back on your floor, lying next to you in a world we made up with secret signs. I closed my eyes so that I could see you again. Your gaze close…

  • Love letter # 199

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    You used to seem like the sunshine, like the light pouring in. You were girl the song was about. You were the one. I used to count down the hours, set the very time by you. I was the fool who knew the sacred sea. I was very nearly the one. We were nearly perfect.…

  • Love letter # 85

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    Yesterday, a friend of mine asked, “Does it ever go away?” I had to say that it didn’t. Even now, after God knows, my breath still catches. I could not, with any confidence, nominate the precise moment you carved your name inside me, but I can tell you now the letters still bleed. It’s not…

  • Love letter # 51

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    I saw a girl who looked like you; she made me tremble. With a trivial turn of her head, with an accidental glance, she took an old man’s composure and made wide eyes of it. She won’t even remember. I do nothing but. The children are playing now, the ghosts are out of their cupboards;…

  • Love letter # 28

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    I am no saint; I know there were days when bitterness almost had me by the throat. I would listen to my fellow divorcees and I would share their complaints. But not for long – because I could not forget that things in our house were never that bad. Yes, we ended. Yes, we bled.…

  • Love letter # 38

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    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…