Love letter # 85

Yesterday, a friend of mine asked, “does it ever go away?” and I had to say that it didn’t. Even now, after God knows, my breath still catches.

I could not, with any confidence, nominate the precise moment when you carved your name inside me but I can tell you now the letters still bleed. It’s not that I pine it’s just that I catch myself with your gestures; beautiful tricks you taught me. And I think to myself – ah, there she is.

It’s then that I understand – you might be a lifetime away but you are always here. Part of me is constructed of the things you once gave so freely. To this day, they are the better parts.

Maybe I don’t miss you at all. Maybe days go by when I don’t think of you but when I do … it is like wine … and just for a moment I am giddy again, whirling around with you.

So yes, it never goes away. It just becomes a river – feeding all that rain back into the sea.

Love letter # 69

All the usual things got said – it won’t last, that feeling will fade – but here I am … loving you even more.

It’s the little cracks in your act, the chinks in your armour, that little grumpy thing you do sometimes … these and other imperfections are the very structure of your beauty.

If this is the so called sickness, long may I suffer. I’m sure that the world is made of harder facts but I have chosen this instead.

When all these rusty marks appear and the shine seems set to dim, I will dive beneath the line to love the deeper you.

And if you would honour me by letting all this madness flow, how wonderfully crazy we could be. It would be like light – it would seem like song.

Love letter # 79

Before you, I existed in complete and utter selfishness. For a moment, it seemed like I was alive. But life is more than feeding – it’s giving.

And what is it you give to me? Permission to love.

You are the cloud that says rain. You are the ocean that says swim. You are the song being sung. I am the dancer flying round the room.

Before you, my heart was a mere valve. Now it is a fountain. Now it is a star pouring light. Everything has changed – and I would not have it any other way.

The day is a temple, the night is a shrine. All this because I give to you – because it flows through me. I am not the keeper of love – only its humble typist.

You are the bell, I am the ringing. Together we herald the dawn.

Love letter # 55

Tonight, as I write, the warm air buzzes, voices drift up from the street. Down there, where I have just been, they are walking arm in arm – and I have lurched up the stairs missing you like mad. Wondering why; even though why won’t matter.

I tell myself to forget you and my friends agree. They say things about you that fill my imagination with horror, that almost make me determined. Yet when the truth crashes through …

There is nothing more to be lost now so I might as well risk it all. You can’t be any more gone.

I look over my shoulder at us and what I see is a self-fulfilling prophecy. It was you who said you couldn’t do close. It wasn’t that we fought or fell out – in fact you were at your most loving just minutes before midnight – it’s just that you decided. You flicked some switch and your soft gaze steeled, your warm voice dried. You broke it off on the phone, almost like an after-thought at the end of our regular late night lovers’ call – and then simply stopped calling. Your affection emptied out. Us washed away like shavings.

People tell me things. Hideous stories. I feel sick when I hear them – and I yearn to hold you again.

I wonder how so much obvious magic can turn so abruptly to nothing. Even now I am still bewildered. I look at these loving couples on the sidewalk and I know exactly what’s missing.

But I am not writing for the past, I’m writing to spark a future. All those promise I made, each and every wild, creative scheme we hatched, they are still here. You need only whisper the thought for it all to come true.

Look at it – all this beauty for your deciding. You must remember it; how easily we connected, how effortlessly we flew … Hey, I might as well ask.

I understand that the chances of you reading this are close to nil but I could not sleep tonight without at least trying. When I click send and these words go spiralling through the matrix to your machine I will possess, if only for the few foolish seconds before oblivion, some small sliver of belief.

Not hope. I’m not that stupid. Just a little more faith in you, my beautiful absent love.

Love letter # 10

Do I need to list the reasons?

  • You in that dress
  • What it shows – what it doesn’t
  • Your incredible skin
  • Your riverine grace
  • My bloody hunger
  • That deep toned “u-huh”
  • Your effortless splendour
  • My years in the cold
  • Our obvious zing

I could go on … but surely you know by now.

There is a key in the hallway – and there is a door with my number upon it. Everything else is yours.

Love letter # 37

There is something altogether humbling about this. My various treasures are now trash, my victories hollow shouts. The smug assurance with which I swaggered through the world like some kind of deluded king is now a quiet shuffle – almost a hiding away.

All the well-meaning therapies have failed and ‘perspective’ has only shown me what I already knew. And now … the bandages are discarded, beyond disinfecting.

My desire has left me with bloodied knees, with cuts all over. A scorched earth stares out from the mirror. I’m sure you get the picture.

I have tried to be sane – to be friends – but I have failed. One of us is poison to the other. I’ll leave you to make your own determination on that.

I cannot judge you. I can only act for my own salvation. I cannot be in a room with you; it’s as simple as that. I know it’s absurd and I offer no defence but I have to ink this full stop right here.

I love you endlessly, recklessly … but I have to live. Please don’t seek any further explanation; the sound of your voice shakes my resolution to pieces. I am only calm in silence.

You are the most astonishing person I have known, the most dangerously beautiful. I have never felt so connected. Never been so sure. Until now.

Forgive me, gorgeous girl. My feet weren’t even clay in the end. So much for swaggering.

Love letter # 41

Now that I am in your light, now that I have tasted you, I breathe in the age old epiphany of skin. All this talk, all these symbols – they are meagre compared to the soft crush of surrender.

My bottled urgency has gone to water. The sting has been excised. It took the merest touch. I was a kingdom waiting to fall for you. And you were my beautiful ruin.

Ambition, achievement – victory, treasure – even wisdom itself … empty clamour. I would rather kiss your splendid eyelids.

They say that every king is humbled before the queen of love. Thank God for that. Our worthless empires will never match up to this.

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