Love letter # 819
Today will always be the day. Corner turned. Stranger looming into view. Eyes in a crowd. Ignition. Nothing ever the same.
What is it – this abrupt transition? Not just the blood in a rush, or the validating gaze of desire. Nor even the magnetic recognition and the promise it contains. Perhaps it is a kind of birth, a world beyond chrysalis. The self reconfigured by the presence of the other. A cell divided, then reunited as someone different.
You appeared and, by an almost instant magic, I vanished – and then returned, at your side, anew. For the brightness had drawn a shadow on the ground; and the shadow had come to life.
Love letter # 495
What I really wanted to say to you on your birthday was that your advent showed me that I could be more than merely self-obsessed and that I did indeed have a capacity for kindness and generosity, and that I too could make a difference in someone’s life. I simply cannot thank you enough for this extraordinary gift.
Love letter # 443
How easy it would be for us not to bother. We could be that couple. We could lapse into blaming one another, or else let the fancy roam. The world is full of younger, seemingly sexier alternatives – charming strangers at parties, the new face at work, the cute student at the checkout. Not to mention the years. The human frailty. The ruthless face of mirrors.
Yet, tired though I am some days, dizzied by the scent of greener grass, I am never more than a glint in your eye away from remembering. There is so much more to this creature called us than the rush of animal blood and a collection of clichés. More than routine and bickering. More than settling.
Though it may appear otherwise at times, I am deeply, profoundly thankful for this. For your part in the chaotically constructed citadel of our lives. I recognise the lure of the various fantasies and the nagging insistence of doubt but, for all the nicks and cuts, the reality is still evident. For better or worse we have made a home together and I for one am in no rush to relinquish the key. I would much rather sit near you again this evening, and wake to your sleepy smile tomorrow.
Love letter # 358
I love you because, in regarding you, I behold the possibility of myself and, more than ever, find the prospect wonderful. Thank you.
Love letter # 406
Yes, I get to receive your love, and for this I am honoured and deeply thankful – but more than this, you let me love you and that, my friend, that is where the profoundest, most liberating joy is to be found. For when I am in the act of loving you it is as though I am love. I can only hope that you too get to experience this extraordinary wonder.
Love letter # 457
It was at a wedding. Ten years ago, I think. At some point that day I realised that I loved you; or at least, that my thoughts kept drifting back to you at every moment when I wasn’t directly engaged. I woke the next morning feeling empty, knowing what was missing. Not merely your presence, your closeness, your touch – but what those things represented.
Now I know what it means to be known. To be recognised, to belong. To see another and, in that unerring reflection, to gaze upon the truth of self. Sometimes I experience this as a kind of music; at others as a mode of silence – yet always as the humbling liberation of formless beauty. The freedom that lies beyond the restriction of names. The unity awaiting us outside of the empire of I.
There is no thanks I can either utter or scribe that can fully contain the wave of gratitude I feel when I ponder this hinge in my life. I think back to that wedding, to that time, and I picture you, just around the corner. Waiting for me to notice.
Love letter # 591
Okay, so you’re probably wondering why I’m emailing you again after all this time – but let me assure you I’m not after anything. I’m not looking to push any buttons or play silly emotional games. I just wanted to say that I dreamt about you last night.
It was a garage sale scene; me wandering in off the street to find you and boxes of your heavily discounted history. I picked my way through the jumble, looking for who knows what, and we chatted with such casual, unaffected ease that when I woke up I was awash with a kind of contentment.
And now, hours later, it’s still with me. Maybe the dream, and all its obvious symbolism of clearing out the clutter of the past, has swept a broom through me.
This afternoon at least I think of you and am at peace – only the gentlest, slow moving wave of calm love coruscating in my body. All dramas ceased. All conspiracies forgotten. All bleeding stopped. Just the vapour of your long distance loveliness, which I am breathing in as I write, and a sea of undiluted affection.