FREE LOVE LETTERS

Category: Sad

  • If we might still mend it with kindness

    If we might still mend it with kindness

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    Already, it has begun. The slow uncoupling. The incremental shifting of orbit. The quiet cellaring of doubts – earmarked as likely ammunition. Yet I wonder if we might still mend it with kindness. For not so long ago we were a kind, as though we had reached across the unbridgeable gulf between souls and seen…

  • Love letter # 415

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    So the fantasy is no longer viable. The ideal ‘us’ revealed as a construction; mostly of lust and other longings. It kept us going for years. Until recently. Now its lustre has cracked to texture, its flame dwindled to flint. Yet what if, in waking, we discovered something more potent than hormonal dreams and daily…

  • Love letter # 326

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    And in a blink, with a quiet inevitability, we find ourselves at the end of summer – these the last balmy nights, the last songs of the season. Soon, we will turn our heads away for a moment and, when we look back, will see that it has gone. Leaves at our feet. Beginnings of…

  • Love letter # 585

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    Her wish was futile; but she made it anyway, just to see how it might feel to be near you.

  • Love letter # 1025

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    I know you have another lover now. I saw you with him last night. And then I saw the look in your eyes.

  • Love letter # 319

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    Solstice. Winter. The darkness in its pomp. The daylight shivering. So far from you. Wanting so much to lie upon the damp earth and be consumed. To sink into the soil, feed the naked trees. Give my life to something greater. Greater than my futile pride. More beautiful than my ridiculous vanity. Something like the…

  • Love letter # 328

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    It happened a couple of days ago. It wasn’t a surprise but it did burst a bubble. Intellectually, knowing it is one thing. Emotionally, seeing it so clearly demonstrated is another. Hope and fantasy thrive on denial, on pretending, on maybe maybe – but they cannot be sustained when reality is so unwittingly played out.…

  • The space you once coloured with wonder

    —

    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    The mundane so often reveals itself to be a quiet form of the profound. Like yesterday. Sitting watching a simple scene – a disjointed gathering of strangers at a café. It was as if I could see it all being played out unwittingly before me. In one corner, a group of girls – young women…

  • Love letter # 575

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in

    So now it has come to this. A wish to forget. To wipe clean the slate. To pass through the wall of remembering, with all its built up, sedimentary longing, and emerge stripped and minimal on the other side of you. The shape of your name in my mouth. The sense of you which I…

  • Love letter # 946

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    by

    Paul Ransom
    in ,

    When I am alone with you it is so obvious. Our love. Like a tiny flower. Or two little kids at play in a garden somewhere. Just too beautiful for the world. In public – in the company of the loud, the graceless and the complacent – it retreats. Not able to withstand the noise;…