Love letter # 283
To this day I remain astonished at your choosing of me. Grateful for the shine in your smile. Amazed by your continued nearness. Whenever I stop to behold it, I am afloat on the sea of your beauty. Lifted up by the advent of your light. I swoon to your song and, in such musical company, I move to the rhythm of the vastness – and in that lovely cadence it feels as though I blend with you and will never, ever be alone. There is nothing I could give back to you that would even come close to emulating this extraordinary gift; the one you unveil with every feather of your touch.
Love letter # 395
In the face of everything I do not and cannot know, I know what it is I want – and though I understand that there are no guarantees, I would still prefer it. It is a simple thing; perhaps naïve and primitive, yet still it feels profound.
So I wonder … will you reach out across the mystery of the great in-between and risk the possibility of heartbreak to walk awhile beside me? Will you sing this song with me? Can we dance in time? Is there a way that you can set aside your fears – as I will let go of mine? Are you ready to abandon the arrogance of knowing for the adventure of finding?
All this I would gladly. If only to hold you.
For there is nothing of which I am certain – no kingdom I would rather, no riches I would gather in your stead. My status, the opinions of others and the hubris of higher purpose – these I shall set as nought. Because in the almost impossible vastness of everything there is nothing I would rather than to love you. Even if for the flicker of a flame.
It may burn to ground in the end, yet by the warmth of that inferno we shall have shone – and with the memory of such a fire we can forever rest in peace. Like distant stars. Lonesome lights beaming out across the blackness.
The only question is: will you?
Love letter # 224
To live is to share; this is what I now realise.
All my previous striving and apparent achievement gave me nothing that was not simply vanity or distraction in the guise of victory. In my pomp I rattled around in a room of echoes – hearing only the narcissistic babble of self. And even in my supposed glory I came back to an empty house – woke in the cool arms of silence. No, not even my trophies gave me any joy. They were simply lonely spoils.
But now there is you – and when I am in the thrall of beauty, I see it reflected in your eyes. When I wake in dead of night, it is your adjacent warmth that soothes me. Brings me back. And even in the deathly quiet, the sound of your breathing.
For I am not here to be right. Nor to be admired. I do not require a kingdom and I have no need for treasures. Nor the tired dust they are wont to gather. I am here to love you. To share everything. To be at one.
Love letter # 221
I was so afraid to ask you that I had to write this letter instead. The words I tried to form got stuck. Disassembled at the sight of you. Maybe I thought I was too old for this kind of adolescent nervousness. How wrong your beauty proved that to be.
And so here it is – that which I could not find the courage or the clarity to say in person. The thing that has been burning me. Consuming me. Keeping me awake.
I can offer no logical explanation, no well thought out series of points – just the simple confession of one who is alive with loving. Who shivers at the very thought of you. Who wishes to dedicate himself to you. Who has nothing else to say but will you please be mine.
Love letter # 394
At our age, everyone has baggage. I guess that’s what makes these dramas so vexed. When I think about how much I love you my heart races and my breath catches and all the ghosts of my considerable caution come out to haunt me. I sense this is the same for you.
So here we are – both looking at the other through the prism of accrued misfortune – both having to accept that the erstwhile simplicity of our desire has been sullied. By poor choices. Heartbreak. Negative patterns on repeat.
I realise this is a defeatist attitude – and yet somehow the fact that we both seem to be nursing our respective wounds weirdly makes it easier to accept. Why is this? I do not know.
All I know now is that – despite an extraordinary warmth between us, an almost reflexive connection – we will each turn our back, neither willing nor able to countenance one more risky trip to the well.
This is both courageous and cowardly. Gutsy because we know where our lines in the sand are drawn and because we retain the strength and conviction to stick to them. Craven because we have no stomach for the adventure that you and I would surely be. I wonder how big a loss this will turn out to be.
Tonight however, we are both disappointed for similar but different enough reasons. Perhaps we will both shed a private tear. I know that I will – and that while doing so I shall dream of your arms around me.