Love letter # 523
We’re both adults – we know how these things tend to go. So yes, it’s true, I am holding back.
Of course I wanted to hold you. Kiss you. Love you in every conceivable way. I saw the universe unfolding in the darkness of your eyes. I saw us dancing in five years time. Heard the music in my head. Felt the thunder in my blood. The fear that runs crazy in a heart held together by the knotted wires of will alone.
Forgive me if I am speaking out of turn here – but I think it’s same for you. We are both pilgrims walking the earth in the thrall of redemptive beauty. Broken angels patching up their wings. Bearers of light throwing shadows all around.
I guess I just wanted you to know that it’s okay. We don’t have to do this. I shall not judge you for the trepidations that belong to me. Your hesitation is mine. Our uncertainty unites us.
What If I loved you? What if I burned? What if you smiled in return?
Love letter # 419
Your beauty is such that it hurts. So golden. Unattainable. An almost perfect sheen. And mine is the rapture of the broken in awe. The swoon of the hesitant.
Beauty, often as not, seeks damage – and damage finds solace in beauty. We always want the opposite of what we have. Opposites attract, right? Like magnets. Electrons and protons.
Not this time though. We will simply orbit and wonder. Maybe wobble off course for a moment. A glitch in our separate journeys. Eyes across a crowd. A nearness so brief and splendid – the euphoria of a breath withheld.
Perhaps it is not necessary to collide – merely to brush. For the night to be lit for a blink. Not even for the length of a kiss. Just the spark of possibly. Like angels pricking splinters in our skin. Pearls of blood. Red as knowing.
And then you are gone. Your beauty recombined with the indistinct. My heart like the memory of flames. Embers like diamonds. The way you shone – and the lovely shadow that cooled me down.
Love letter # 297
Tonight your light is of such a wondrous quality that, in the fire of its glow, I would gladly yield to the greater darkness. Your song so lovely I could fold into the oceanic silence. Here your gifts are so overwhelming that I could give them all to the void. In this moment beside you all time could cease. For with our love we have purged the world of its sturm und drang. Of its distracting drama. Leaving only this. The infinitely small and endless sea of now.
Love letter # 362
Baby, you’re a silver dream. Better than a dream machine. You’re the sky in summertime. I love the way your bright light shines. I’m moving to your snaking beat. Sweating in your silken heat.
You get the picture, right? No further revealing required? What’s clear is the way I feel – and what I want to know from you. Do you, do you, do you?
I did not come to beg and plead. Nor to serve a shallow need. I sing to move your heart to pound. To quell the doubts and bring you round. So here I am in naked truth. Should you ever wish for proof.
So yes – no more cards – none left close to this chest anyway. All down on the table now. A seat here waiting.
Love letter # 459
A song came on the radio today. Not one I hear that often – but one that still sings of our time together. While it played – and for a few minutes afterwards – I was in love with you all over again. All I could hear was your husky laugh. Taste your mouth. Feel what it felt like to be wanted by you.
Less romantic realities may have ground such wonders to predictable dust, yet my body still holds the sensations. My heart still sounds out your name. Not in deluded hope or obsessional fixation but in honour. For loving you was one of the most wonderfully intense and beautiful things I ever did.
I am not sure where you are tonight, or who you are with, but I am a fire in the arms of memory. Warmed. Glad to have once been so crazy.
I thank you once more for the blood you sent crashing through formerly ossified veins; because, having been broken over the back of you I am no longer afraid of anything. And I will die knowing what it was like to love as though nothing else mattered.
Which it doesn’t.
Love letter # 336
There was a place in time where the light shone bright and brief for you and I. Today it illuminates our memory. Now we stand looking across the line of our separate lives. Two strands, fluttering near in the chance of a breeze. How much has changed – yet what remains! A thing so pure and unsullied. The very spark itself. Sun still sparkling on the back of a turquoise sea.
The blind, egalitarian river of time is sweeping us downstream, disrupting our private summer with the grit of a common autumn. Yet – next to you – even for this serendipitous minute – the bloom is heady with the scent of promise; which, going unfulfilled, becomes a brand new sweetness in a secluded garden of bittersweet treasures. Where even the years shall not dim its loveliness.
Love letter # 491
It is time that keeps us apart. Or more precisely, years. My age, your youth. My yesterdays, your boundless tomorrows.
It is the heedless, evolutionary logic of mortality which shall shut me out from the dazzle your love – which has closed your eyes to the lustre of mine. For I am no mere dreamer; I loiter instead on the sidelines of time, not even daring to imagine your arms about me. Indeed, I know that even to confess this is to condemn myself. In the old and the ugly, love is a kind of malediction.
Yet what more appropriate response to beauty is there but gentle wonder? The heart melting. The soul on fire.
This – and a thousand other reasons. Useless. No warm and private nights. No naughtiness. Not even the whisper of a kiss. Just the banality of years. Your lovers, my silence. Me leaving, you not noticing.
So here – the flower I carry. Persistent little bloom. Heady perfume. I only need breathe it in to know; and knowing, I am beside you – and you are smiling at me – and everything – absolutely everything – is beautiful.