Love letter # 768
I saw you before your eyes sought me out, heard your song before you said my name. I saw you in the sea before there was an island. I sensed the onset long before the rain. The signs of you were clear before you spelled it out. You had reached across the space between us without the need for hands. For I was falling in advance of you. My love in bloom in the long, quiet winter. Before a single word had thawed the darkened ground. And then we met, and I knew.
Love letter # 442
For you I need look no further. You are in my blood, electricity in my fibres. You are made of the same sinew, and in the subsoil of my being you have grown to fruition.
When I am dancing, you are the animator. When I sing of love it is with your voice. When it matters, it is because of you.
If I once dreamt of you, now you are awakened inside me. Now I search no more; for you are evoked by simple thought. The world does not contain you, except that it contains me. You are no longer the other but instead are me, as I am also you. Two but one; one but two.
Like sand, lime, soda and fire – we have become glass, from which this mirror is carved. Dirt and flame, earth and star – blood and love. And thence, upon seeing…seen.
Love letter # 691
I was the starving till you grew. I was the drifter, then you called. But I had an anchor, you had wings, hoping to light a path from here. Now we’re on a journey home, my love – to the sea where the islands meet and sleep. And there we will find we have everything … because nothing at all is everything.
Love letter # 440
I could say it in a million ways but it always comes back to this: I love you.
What does that mean? To be honest, I can’t pin it down – but I can sure feel it. This love, whatever it is, is as obvious as breath, as vital as blood. It is in me. Waiting. Yearning for release.
Perhaps it is a form of madness. Or music. Again, I could carve it to pieces, but it would still be just this: the yearning I feel in your presence, the longing that sighs in my bones when you are elsewhere.
And now, at the thought of you, the flower unfolds and all the world is heady scent. And I inhale – and somehow, you are inside me, and I love it.
Love letter # 435
You passed me on the stairs and, over shoulders, with half turns, our eyes locked. I spied you in the corner of a room, your thoughts in clouds, looking as though you knew. I watched you as you walked – and as you drew near. We very nearly brushed against each other. Like me, you were holding your breath. Now you sit beside me. Now the silence is ours.
There is a world out there, blurring by beyond the plane of a window, this clouded canvas upon which we now draw our fingertip shapes in condensation. Your graceful distance, my humble presence. Your gorgeous melancholy, my pilgrim adoration. Your shimmering solitude, my lonesome prayer.
We hover in a kind of absence, dance to a song without form. Ours is the realm without border, the house without walls. We live nowhere. Claim nothing. Do not yield to the stricture of names. You and I are not even you and I; for now we are in the melted space, not even space. We are the paradox of two and one and three – the trinity that adds up to nothing. The emptiness that contains all things. The dark eye, beholder of flooding light.
I wonder now – indeed I have already forgotten – how it was I lived without you.
Love letter # 512
Everything changes, this we know, and our attempts to keep things as they are fly in the face of logic and evidence. Yet, for all that, my unfaltering love for you. Like an eternal, indivisible force – or rather, a clear and unmoving viewpoint from which to gaze out upon the world. A sublime centrality.
For I still measure the nights by your kiss, and wonder at the dawn by the brightness of your smile. I still walk the miles by the closeness of your hand and dance the dance to the meter of your sway. And to this day I cast all beauty in your form. Hear all songs in your voice. Comprehend joy by the music of your laughter. Indeed, through the prism of my loving you, I sift out the light and the dark, and everything in between, and, by this means, understand that they are one.
Love letter # 353
The way she looks up at him as they walk along. How he basks in her attention. Their secret tongue. The manner of their touching. The lustre of a private vision in their eyes. All the beautiful details of their moving together. This is what I want to share with you.