Love letter # 24
For the times we had, I offer simple gratitude. I am profoundly grateful for the beautiful days and the satin nights. I give thanks for the times you called to tell me you loved me. I am blessed to have held you in my arms. It was my incredible fortune to kiss you.
I thank every star in heaven for the time we danced along the roadside. I am forever glad for the sexy text messages, grateful to have known your scent up close, honoured to have loved you.
But so too am I grateful for your diaphanous deceptions; for your flagrant disrespect. And for your countless lies and your obvious manipulations, I offer up thanks. I would not be here without your quite remarkable selfishness. It was not your kindness but your cruelty that set me free.
Now – every day – I sink to my knees in gratitude and the love I have for you falls like the cleansing rain, washing away my conceit. How lucky I was to have known you so.
Love letter # 72
And now … calm. The great quietness of aftermath. You and me not talking. Yet still you are the sun. Still you are the evening, the soft relief of closure. And your name is the in breath; the automatic motion of life. I love you without wanting. I want you without requiring. How I wish I could wake up beside you; although of course I won’t. Yet still I give warmth to the cold side of the bed, for there will always be a hearth for you, a light flickering, a room in the corner of the world. We may pay no heed but the gods sigh regardless – because we are the beaten up stars. We are the eternal broken down. Or rather, we were. Now we’re just islands – and the sea is our union. With my love I send you little waves. You might look for jewels in the sand. You may know where they came from. That’s not the point. I once loved you for the echo – now I just love you … now I just love you.
Love letter # 45
Why the drugs? They allow me to use the mirror, they paper over the obvious. I honestly don’t know what I’d do if I stopped to acknowledge.
Some people are stupid – they destroy what they love by oversight. More fool them. I was not so lucky. I torched the treasures with open eyes. It wasn’t malice – I could nearly live with that. It was selfishness.
Perhaps even this drama of apology is ego in a mask. Maybe sorry is the most self-seeking thing I could ever say.
Yet I cannot let this pass. This awful wreckage is not of your making, despite what I said. If you were once cruel I was twice vain. I understand that no one is truly blameless – not even you – but I was insatiable. Greedy. Feeding on you. No wonder you bit back.
I took your hope and made it arch. I put the kink in your once perfect smile. I was the one who said your love wasn’t good enough.
Why am I saying this? Partly I have a need to hurt myself but mostly I have a desire for you to know that there are much better worlds than this. Tonight is not the end of love even if it is the annihilation of us. There is no victory here, only loss … and the chance for you to be beautiful again.
I’m not sure I could ever make it up to you – except with goodbye. So goodbye. Delete my number as I have just deleted yours. Cut this bloody tie. Let this blood drain away.
Love letter # 51
I saw a girl who looked like you; she made me tremble. With a trivial turn of her head, with an accidental glance, she took an old man’s composure and made wide eyes of it. She won’t even remember. I do nothing but.
The children are playing now, the ghosts are out of their cupboards; scattered around the room like the disinterred photographs that lay on my table. Your eyes staring up at me; that wonderful glow of yours. Us.
I am no fool – but God I wish I was. I wish that girl was you – you as you were, come to take me back. This distance between us – measured in years and circumstance – it could melt to inches. Couldn’t it?
I know the theory. No turning back. But what if we left the diamonds behind? What if we were just too young to know? I might be ready for you now. You might find a space for me. All those things we were afraid of – did they not turn out to be simple spots of rain?
And to think, I had put your memory away. Grown up, moved on, etc. Yet here I am – one girl on a crowded train away from writing crazy emails to a love I last kissed a thousand years ago. Tells you something, I guess.
I don’t believe in miracles – but I’d like to; and I’m old enough now to admit it. I’d trade away my hard won self-determination for another half hour, for the merest chance at resurrection. This damned wisdom I carry around; it has only taught me one thing. The only thing worth knowing.
That I would rather be with you.
Love letter # 66
There is a door through beauty to something wonderful. Go on – open it.
See, the world is even more beautiful now – and all because we said so.
When you live in the realm of the beautiful you break bread with angels.
We are blessed creatures, you and I; we who are nothing and everything.
And lover … you sure made me better. And I … I just opened my eyes – and beheld.
Love letter # 17
Because I am no saint I can say this: I want you.
I have thought and felt intolerable things. I have bitten my tongue so hard my mouth has filled with blood. I have struggled with the weight of hunger – tried not to let it show.
By confessing this I am praying that you will kill the fantasy with firm unambiguous language. I see that ring you wear. I see those demure dresses. I know your skin is not for me.
But still I shiver at the thought of it – still I can almost taste it in the air between us. You are like the dream of country, the gorgeously undulating earth. You are the cool scent of waterfall in clammy forest air. You are the softness of yielding.
There have been moments, behind closed eyes … that wonderful mouth, those honey tresses unfurled.
I would not just speak for you – I would sing for you. But alas … the dream crashes to its end upon waking. So shake me, wake me, make me realise.
Maybe then I’ll get over it.
Love letter # 124
It would be much easier if I didn’t – but I do. For despite all my trying, all my regularly updated vows, I still sit in the place where we once lingered, vainly reaching across time, trying not to breath too loudly; lest the remnants be obscured.
In every room, the archaeological record, barely buried – the way you danced over there, how you softly sighed in here. In one envelope – a picture of you in that dress and the only two love letters you ever wrote. And that childlike painting tacked to the wall in my secret corner of you.
All of which brings me to this … you once said goodbye; and so now the wheel has turned and it has come time for me to break these things.
Time for me to say: it’s not you.
There is an old saying; it goes something like this: at the end of the summer remember that in a very short time it will be spring once more.
Tonight, I have walked amongst these dry old leaves and seen at last the chance of flowers. Thank you.