Love letter # 319
Solstice. Winter. The darkness in its pomp. The daylight shivering. So far from you. Wanting so much to lie upon the damp earth and be consumed. To sink into the soil, feed the naked trees. Give my life to something greater. Greater than my futile pride. More beautiful than my ridiculous vanity. Something like the love that still lives inside me.
In this frigid grey I see you so clearly – turning your head to smile back at me – your eyes so warm with tenderness. That knowing laugh of yours. The way you hinted at deeper and more wonderful things. The permission you gave. Not to do what others do. Not to want the folly of gold and glory, or the shallowness of wisdom. We never asked to be feted, nor approved of. We only ever wanted the unblinking and egalitarian oblivion of the light. To have all the shit washed off. The walls destroyed. To hear the music wherever we went.
Amidst the bare knuckled trees I linger and in the thickening dusk I call across the impossibility to listen out for the echoes of your astonishing beauty. I breathe in the viscous wet scent of fallen leaves and rain drunk dirt. I hear the song of celestial time – its overwhelming and magnificent simplicity – and I am ready to whisper my assent to the immensity. If only to be nearer. To you. To us.
So now I shall close my eyes and in a blink of blackness the wheel will have turned – and in a heartbeat the light will have come back to me. And I will not be here.