FREE LOVE LETTERS

Category: Sad

  • Love letter # 114

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    I have you in my blood now, sticking to my skin, hovering like the weight of space in my chest. We are far apart, yet…you…physically present. Like the soft glisten of gold summer in slate hard winter. Aching quietly, I vault the sea in frictionless fantasy. Then, with relief – with a recognition that defies…

  • Love letter # 103

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    Two days ago, everything was in its place. Yesterday, there was a storm, and everything got smashed. Today, sea and sky are calm, as though wind and rain never happened. The world turns. Hours tick by. People go about their business. We are nothing. Was any of it real, or did the dream simply crumple…

  • Love letter # 179

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    It is not so present now. This absence of yours. The distance is a buffer. A cloud. It feels more like a dance these days. The present that is now past. The space in everything. Still lit with beauty.  

  • Love letter # 200

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    In the ragged shadow, a vacuum. An implosion. You – torn from me. Every day heavy. Numb, screaming, dissolving at the drop of thought. The breathless staggering. Unimaginable future. Then, for a long while, abrasion. The rough grain of society. The hollow chime of voices. The pretending. Yes, I’m good; which I was not. The…

  • 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 # 411

    Love letter # 411

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    Seeking distance. Numbness. A blaze of sex. Blur of intoxication. Defiant self-talk. Strip you from my skin. Tear that page out. Now the wound of folly. Dishonour. You only said goodbye. I scratched the paint from the walls. Hoping that the ruins would set me free. They did not. In time, this blood will clot,…

  • Love letter # 555

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    There is nothing I can say here that you do not already know. This is merely an act of confirmation. Though it may be dressed in a thousand ways, the truth is naked. The end.

  • Love letter # 646

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    I wrote your name in a thousand places. One for each night I lay broken. Did anyone ever wonder? Perhaps you simply sat next to me one day, then routinely walked away. And this is all nothing.  

  • Love letter # 663

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    I write this letter to myself. To remind me. Today, for the first time since farewell, for a quiet minute or so, we did not think of her. Thus, it begins. The end.

  • 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…