Category: Uncategorised
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Careful, you may be having an impact
Even in our shared anonymity, we are all someone Words & images © Paul Ransom Old love letters…so long buried in a box of mementos, for years unread, forgotten. Until – triggered by an upcoming house move and the consequent desire to offload surplus clutter – I rediscover them. For a few seconds I contemplate…
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Discover Lost Love Letters
Recently, a subscriber to this site revealed their own blog of love letters. It reminded me of the inspiration for Free Love Letters. There are many reasons to pen such missives, and it would seem that the author of Lost Love Letters had a similar motivation to mine. Thus, I hereby recommend their site. Link:…
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It was 20 years ago today…
Remembering the end of a marriage, and the start of something else Rewind. Saturday April 17, 2004. Adelaide, South Australia. Autumn. We wake, as ever, in the long-serving marriage bed. Yet this is no ordinary morning. No time for coffee at our favourite local. Instead, terse finality. I gasp for air. You walk down the…
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I will (almost certainly) not be your valentine
How to give up on the romantic ideal without becoming bitter NB: This piece first appeared on our sister blog, As If You Were Listening. Feel free to check it out by hitting the link. (Go on, you’ll love it.) Romance is not so much dead as in an induced coma. The idealised other has…
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An honest dating app profile
Met a lady over coffee today. She smiled, flirted. Said, “You look like an artist.” Am I, I wondered, or just a cliche? She wanted to know what apps I used. Which way did I swipe? “I don’t,” I said. A few minutes later she enquired, “So…you’ve been single quite a while now, haven’t…
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Dear Eternity
A love letter to inevitable uncertainty Blink. A page turns. A new reality dawns. A home no more; soon to be an old address. Photographs. People who will promise to stay in touch but won’t. If once I talked the talk, now I stand ready to walk. Maybe walk the Earth. Who knows. Which is…
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A surprising NYE café encounter
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” the voice said, speaking without judgement. Yes, she was. The waitress. Young and perfect. Full in flower. In elastic, fertile prime. I was hoping not to get caught, tracing her feline grace as she brought the Cold Drip to my table. As she inclined slightly towards me, and the scent of…
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To Eleanor. To all of you.
We met at a café and got talking. Then, as one long black turned into another, your story came out. Easier to tell a stranger. Our friendship lasted less than two hours but your words – your resignation – came home with me, where they have sat in my heart like a ring of thorns.…

