Love letter # 334
He sits waiting by the window at his favourite café, looking at his watch. She keeps her phone by her side, wondering when it will ring; startling at anything that sounds remotely like it might be him on the line. Now they both know what most of us come to know – the longing that will not be matched, the lover’s call unanswered.
For you and I this was the gateway to compassion. The dark hour that eventually dawned as the brightness of light.
Could it be that the kiss which never lands is the best kiss ever? Perhaps it is only when we starve that we come to see the true value of feeding. Because when I was alone in the night I woke up to the real beauty of your arms around me.
Maybe, through the agency of their yearning, our nameless young lovers will melt down their hard and prideful exteriors and make their newly softened skin ready to receive the next band of life-giving rain. For, as we both know, joy is the bloom of sorrow.
Love letter # 499
There is a certain song – I’m sure you know the one. Whenever it plays I am in your arms. Suddenly, the distractions of my busy day and the vanity of my ambitions are dissolved and I am reconnected with what truly matters. My unbounded, undying and all-encompassing love for you. The sheer beauty of it makes me feel. Strips away my hubristic thinking and arrogant resistance. Returns me to the core.
Whenever I hear it I love you like forever. I cherish you as I do life itself. And I yearn to be next to you. If only I could play, I swear this song would be my troth to you. But I am a poor fool instead – making do with the clumsy clunk of words.
Yet even as the song ends – my love remains – so much more than an echo. So much more than anything else.
Love letter # 382
The days are fine. It’s the evenings that do it. Somehow make the years intolerable. As though time itself had ground us down. We used to seem like angels – now we seem like dust.
And so I wonder – are we held together by what we used to be? By the lingering fantasy of you and me? Those two wonderful creatures that defied the world with their improbable love and set out to make a lifetime theirs.
When did we stop being them? When did the distance nestle its way between us? Perhaps it was when we stopped looking.
Yet tonight I am most definitely looking. Peering out across the falling darkness to try and see the light still shining in your eyes. To reach out to one I fell in love with. To say once more to that beautiful soul … I love you, I love you, I love you.
Love letter # 320
Although it is now our habit to see the less attractive parts of our relationship – and I, like you, have wondered why I am still here – there are times when I recall the beauty. When I reconnect with the buzz and the undeniable sense of recognition. When I thank every available deity that it’s you who walks beside me. The difference is, this time I am overcoming my rusted on tiredness and letting you know that tonight was one such time. Not just because I remembered it but because I felt it. And it was alive.
Love letter # 454
If the roles were reversed I would most likely be nowhere near as gracious or as strong as you – for I know what it is to bleed and to long for that which will never return. I remember all too well how it feels to stand beside the one you love and have them not love you back; and although I will not apologise for no longer loving you as you wish, I will say sorry for my part in the slow disintegration of us.
We both know how easy it is to say that tired, trite line – let’s just be friends – and how awful it is to be that friend. To that end I promise you this: my quiet disappearance. I shall not inflict my egotistical guilt on you in the form of so-called friendship – not if it makes things worse for you. Not if it is as hard for you as it once was for me.
Perhaps, after all, lovers are best housed in memory – free from further taint or temptation. Where fresh wounds cannot be so easily inflicted. I will retire into this space if you so wish it. Keep my distance. Keep my mouth shut. You only have to say.
Yet if you can bear the cooler fractions of what you it is desire, these I will gladly give. That we may honour the beauty that remains and salvage from our inevitable human frailty the nobler part of love’s much tarnished glory.
I cannot offer you everything but what I have to give I shall give fully – not as duty or self-seeking recompense but as treasure newly found. If you will take these tiny jewels, I will dig them from the earth to lay them at your feet.
Or I will retreat and leave you in peace.
Love letter # 222
The ever moving stream. The ceaseless churn of cycles. The great and silent wheel of everything. This is what we share.
We are but the name of the eternal. The splendid details. Flowers in an endless sea of beauty. And as they sway, so shall we.
Just as we are close, so shall we be distant. As long as there is a fire, there will be ashes. For the glory of the night is surely followed by the eye of the morning.
Love letter # 205
Desire, love, connection – call it what you will – it appears to happen by some magical process. The sight of you has sent the signals rocketing through my system; that warm, enveloping tide of hormones and recognition. The physical crush in my chest. The gravitational force that urges me to touch you whenever I can.
In another world this might not be a problem. But alas, this is the world we find ourselves in – the world in which you are already betrothed.
I see your eyes looking out at me. I read what they’re saying. Oh please … please don’t.
We all choose the path we walk upon – and I have chosen this: to adore you quietly and allow you your decision. I will not say that I am a better man, for I may well not be. Indeed, I am just another man who wants you. A man who sees the incarcerated beauty glowing inside you. (Or at least thinks he does.)
I am prepared to accept that this is all a delusion – another grand, romantic folly in a long line of pseudo-poetic mishaps. But maybe one day you will prove me wrong.