Love letter # 430
It is in the bittersweet beauty of autumn that I return. The crisp azure of early afternoon, the honey gold linger of evening, the aromatic chill of dusk. In such air I once stood beside you. Almost touched you. Your dark eyes a fire inside me.
Then a blink. Followed by years. The long distance of your promise. The marathon of my desire. Now, another autumnal turn; literal and figurative. Your tresses are shorn. Blown away like the last wisps of summer. The high season of time. You and I in bloom.
These miles I cannot cross, save with the fleetness of love. In the wistful cinema of imagining, there you flicker. Star of the fall. Translucent siren, your song a trail of echoes, hollowed into waves, moving through me still. I surrender and am uplifted, so that I might be set down near to you.
It was you that I saw. Amidst the teeming. With its voice brash and colours bright. While the dance was happening. In the vivid swirl of wine and song. If I had arrived alone, for each brushing past I was lonelier still. Filling the space with empty sound.
Yet we did not speak, for there was nought to be said. At the distance of rooms and in the quiet of eyes everything necessary was understood. The angel and her silence. The sacred stillness of knowing. Behind the blur of noise and running…the clarity of hush. Here, love may be whispered in breath alone. The eternal murmur of our recognition.
When they had all gone, there you were. Quiet beauty. The sea of your gaze. And touch, so faint, so absolute. The angel arriving with nothing, leaving everything. The inexhaustible compassion of her mystery. For she will not be reduced to signs, and in her actless grace we too are granted the plenitude of her unspoken love.
As I looked into the deepening welcome of your eyes and saw the delicate creasing of your smile, there too I beheld the miracle of the angel and her silence.
Love letter # 2020
This could be the best thing that ever happened to us. We might remember why we love one another.
Love letter # 503
There is much I have forgotten, details yielded to time and other fogs. But the body holds traces, relives the sensation. The wonder of your arrival, like the beating of butterfly wings. The rush of falling, as though desire, coded in flutters, remains, with the distortions of ordinary grind edited out and the purity of hunger tight in my gut. It is the sweetness of a gravity both abstracted and real. Fantasy strung out in the fibre of nerves. In these moments, mess and noise dissolve and the unobstructed current flows brilliant. I catch my breath, and in that liminal space, I love you like the dawn of everything.
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Love letter # 218
The end of isolation and bitterness does not lie behind a wall – it rests in the arms of love. The demons shall not be chased out by darkness – they shall be banished by the light. It is when we allow ourselves to be loved that our fear and mistrust finally dissolve. For the past cannot withstand the presence of powerful tenderness. Because all of our wounds can be healed with a kiss. And this I offer to you, my lovely friend. xx
Love letter # 324
After all our noise and triumphalism – when our empires have fallen and our vainglory has come to nothing – it is the smallest things that sustain us. The simple warmth of human contact. Of hello. Of the smile we give one another. Or the smooth and lovely feel of your hand in mine.
So much that we cling to is delusion. Our sense of control. The idea of ourselves as the centre of everything. The hubris of believing we can conquer time. Perhaps even the notion of love itself.
But when I see you … what else is it that I need to believe? For even if I am just a gene machine – an animal with stripes on itself – the simple, uncomplicated fact of your caring for me – and of my adoring you – will see me through the night and bring into me the light of day.