Love letter # 497
So there’s this girl. Lithe, slender. Maybe a little melancholy. She likes to wear charcoal black jeans. She lets her long hair flow whenever she can. And then there are her eyes – illuminated with fires I recognise. I wonder sometimes: is she is looking into me? Showing me a sign. Holding out the possibility.
I see her most days. You know the one. The mint cool blonde. The girl who calls me by name. Shines her rogue of a smile at me – half knowing, half wondering – whenever she catches me looking. Seems to let me revel in her form; her long and languorous lines, the curved terrain of her feline approach, the intense quiet that underscores her movement, the mystery of a gaze that seems to come from an immense distance.
Oh yes, you know her. I would simply like to. No…make that love to.
Love letter # 388
A lively mind, a playful spirit, a sense of irreverence – these are the things that draw me to you. Your way with words, your devilish eye, the way you tease; but also your fire and the way you just don’t give a damn when others cast their petty judgement on you. I love the way you flaunt it. Your hauteur. No false modesty for you. Then, perhaps above all, your compassion, which shines out amongst the syrupy suburban sentimentality that so often parades as kindness. And even your flaws, which render you so human, and the vulnerability you allow me see. No wonder I love you as I do. No wonder I feel so blessed to walk beside you.
Love letter # 1025
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 # 480
You are beautiful in a way that defies all but the most animal logic. Much as I might try to arm myself against your pulchritude with reason or politically correct sensibility, your light shines right through the million cracks in my ridiculous defence. Even my hard earned trepidations about ‘falling for someone again’ are skirted by the fires of your splendour.
How easily we are knocked off our comfortable perches by the deeper currents of evolution and chemistry. It is humbling. Magnificent in its devastating simplicity. A shape, a scent, a sparkle in the eye. The promise of skin. The glow that follows.
So, in place of poetry, gravity. In lieu of good intention, desire.
This may indeed be a shallow missive, little more than a politely sexual confession, but in your presence and in my most urgent imaginings I am reduced – or is elevated? – to the kind of hunger that will permit neither denial nor obfuscation.
Love letter # 323
Your walk. The hypnotic sway of it. The quiet way you dance, eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to anything but the ecstasy of music. The subtlety of your smile. How you seem to know something the rest of us don’t.
And then there’s the distance. That spectral horizon your eyes always drift out towards. As though you do not really belong here with us. Grubby, stupid humans.
Sometimes, I’ll be honest, I am in silent awe. Your beauty has a quality that obliterates expectation. Destroys complacency. Melts away the trivia of detail. Maybe it is a kind of test. If so, I submit to the rules of the examination. Not merely as a stumbling and hopeful stooge of desire but to hold up the mirror I know you’ve been searching for. To see you. And give you a reason to look.
Love letter # 637
You are so beautiful I can barely look at you. I am literally physically affected. Deep stirring occurs – lust yes, but also more than that, a longing to care and protect. God, even to adore. As though via some extraordinary mechanism of gravity you could usher a river from me. And this is both wonderful and terrifying. For you could break me with a flicker of an eyelid. This is why I hold my breath. Look down at the ground. Because beauty is a star that blinds – burns – and I do not know if I am ready once again to be the man of cinders.
Love letter # 428
Truth be told, you would be better advised not to be so friendly, not to sit so close, not to smile like that. You are playing with fire and whilst you will have your fingertips singed my entire world will burn to the ground. Your beauty, combined with your attentions, your habit of openness and closeness, will make an inferno of my calm. Wreckage of my sensible perspective.
I am on the verge of loving you utterly – wanting you absurdly – and I would much rather not. I have nothing to gain from pointlessly adoring your unattainable body or from ridiculously pursuing your greater affection.
Please, if this is anything more than a game to you, allow me my space. Surely you do not require the validation of my aging hunger – the ego boost of yet another fool tumbling at your feet.
So before I dare to seriously dream of a kiss that we both know will never land – a fantasy that will quickly morph into a nightmare – do not lean so close next time. Do not lay your hand on me. Avert those shining eyes.
Though it may be hard to accept that I will never know the warm velvet of your skin, it would be far harder to believe that one day I might. Show me that your love is impossible. Make it plain that even in a thousand years your lips will not taste mine. Every fibre in my animal body wants to strain for you but my heart knows better. And so do you.
Let’s hit pause now – because after a certain point there is no rewind.