FREE LOVE LETTERS

Category: Philosophical

  • Leave them all behind

    Leave them all behind

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    We know what they are like. We have seen them all before. Their kind. So sure, so set in their ways. Those who feel they have the right to instruct, to prescribe. We should do this, be like that, live like they do. By their rules. If only their example was worth following, maybe we…

  • Love letter # 629

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    Once, in the garden of stars, it seemed like we were side by side – but that was a trick of the light. From the vantage of great distance alone did we appear together. Here, the space is beyond our measure. You are on the other side of the sky. I only know you by…

  • 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 # 20230218

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    Tomorrow I leave you. Yet, you will barely notice my absence; for I only walked in your dappled light, another visitor, passing through you like the breeze, my flight shaped, scented, by your sentinel presence. In the sculpture of my motion, the evidence of you, perturbations on the surface of a stream. The flex of…

  • Love letter # 782

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    Of course there are things I do not know about you, and vice versa. Indeed, there may well be things we do not realise about ourselves. So many unknowns…and yet…the attraction of bodies in space. I have the feeling we will come together in spite of our combined caution; not by the mechanics of fate,…

  • Love letter # 548

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    Realising now. How I miss you. I thought I could walk away, but you are still with me. Coursing in my blood. In truth, you were my sanctuary. Now I feel exposed. Nearly raw. Yet really…it is not you; it is the feeling. I am sure I did not thank you enough for it. My…

  • Love letter # 922

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    You/not you. I/not I. Outlines of a sketchily remembered tryst. Me on the dancefloor. You on the tennis court. A few bright days. Even fewer nights. Your eyes searching me. Was I the one? Were you? No…as we soon discovered. A spasm of lust – lips and hips and hands – but not love. Not…

  • Love letter # 521

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    If forced to say it aloud, I would say that I did not need you. Did not love you. Nor even want you. Yet, in these absences, space for something undefinable. This ineffable attraction, the desire that will not be reduced to its description. Here now, the mystery that draws me to you. The love…

  • She reminds me of you

    She reminds me of you

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    Some things are known before they are known. Like winter; and the logic of its freeze. I felt her retreat before I saw it. Inching back from intimacy and the fear of being seen. That’s why I’m writing to you. Because you understand. There is no need for detail; save that her wounds once bled…

  • Love letter # 777

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    Nothing is owned. All is given. Or taken. The look in your eyes last night said as much. You once told me that what you wanted was to be heard. Well, you have been. All without saying a word. I realise there is no score, no account to be balanced, only the play of human…