FREE LOVE LETTERS

Category: Nostalgic

  • Love letter # 474

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    The once tangible force of your presence has become a kind of archaeology. Fossilised remains. Dead pictures, pressed flat by time. The world we once fashioned with our tender belief compressed to a hush of breath. A clock ticks. It counts the leftover jewels in our crown. We, who made as if all was ours,…

  • Love letter # 468

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    The beauty of autumn is the sweetness of memory. Especially in the gloaming. Where you reside, nigh divine and untouchable. In the waft of woodsmoke I dream of a hearth with you.  

  • For my vanished Valentines

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    You. All of you. Seeping through cracks in time. Splinters in splintered memory. Each of you left behind, embraced now by distance; from which I may regard, with detached perspective, the folly of erstwhile excess and the dry ache of ancient deprivation. What was I thinking? The unkept promises, the self-pitying dramas, the cruel indecisions.…

  • Love letter # 683

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    I remember everything. It has never left me. The sense of you nearby. I hear the sound of your footsteps; they echo in the valley of my love. I feel your body’s warmth, like the humid cloak of hot afternoons, wrapped around me. I reach into space. The air is your fingertips. I move in…

  • Love letter # 775

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    The memory lives in every cell, archived in muscle, carried by blood. The sheer sensation of you. That shattering instant of your arrival. Everything changing. A beam of light from your eyes. The space collapsing between us. I knew what it was; yet had no idea. I simply stood in the line of your gaze…

  • Love letter # 622

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    As the sun shines, it goldens the lights in your hair. In the rainfall, dew on your skin, a gaze so softly cast. When the night comes, tender, the scent of touch, and the quiet breath of knowing. Still. With you. Always.

  • Love letter # 430

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    It is in the bittersweet beauty of autumn that I return. The crisp azure of early afternoon, the honey gold linger of evening, the aromatic chill of dusk. In such air I once stood beside you. Almost touched you. Your dark eyes a fire inside me. Then a blink. Followed by years. The long distance…

  • Love letter # 503

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    There is much I have forgotten, details yielded to time and other fogs. But the body holds traces, relives the sensation. The wonder of your arrival, like the beating of butterfly wings. The rush of falling, as though desire, coded in flutters, remains, with the distortions of ordinary grind edited out and the purity of…

  • For the anniversary of stars

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    A glance at the screen, a date in the corner; and just like that: thirty years. The gap between waking and dreaming. A space hollowed of promises. The tender hook, still fast. Timeless. Remember how it rained that afternoon. How the evening was soft; lambent as the rings changed hands and the waterfall sang nearby.…

  • Love letter # 439

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    This evening, conjured by the angled sun, called up by the softening folds of seasonal air, you were with me once more. Present in my charged senses. Or rather, I was back there – then – decades evaporated – on the trundling red train, moving up the hill to your teenage welcome. Perhaps I should…