Tag Archives: Love letters for him

Love letter # 290

I saw you this morning – but I’m fairly sure you didn’t see me. What struck me was how light you seemed. Your complexion. The way your hair fell. The jaunty rhythm of your walk. I was reminded of the sirens in your eyes and of all the madness they used to induce in me.

In some ways I was glad – relieved that we were no more. For now I am free of the blinding, humbling, crazy-making feelings that the merest touch of your hand once set off in me. Not just fireworks. Fire storms. Indeed, I think it’s fair to say I lost myself in those great waves.

And yet, when you turned the corner – out of sight once more – I understood with a cold shudder what I had lost. A kind of hope. A life outside of my own self-serving thoughts.

Thus I am writing to you this evening to say without reservation that it was my neediness, not your cruelty. My weakness, not your arrogance. Sure, you contributed your fair share of poor behaviour to the silliness but it is clear to me now that the war between us started in my suspicions and spread from there.

For this I apologise – not simply because I ruined my own love but because I trampled on yours too. I can only hope that you have by now sweated out the poison I poured into you and that the beauty which first drew me to you is shining brighter and stronger than ever. From my brief glimpse of you earlier today, it certainly looked that way.

Love letter # 243

You move like a river through this desert of mine. You fall like the rain upon my parched and broken ground. You rise like the moon on the blackest night. And everything glows. And deeply, and with low planetary sighs, I turn towards you. My love is like a force of nature; a rock in space around a star. This impulse is beneath and beyond anything I could ever explain. As though I were flung from the lofty heights into the warm encompassing valley of your hands. There to shudder and melt away.

Love letter # 156

When I was young I dreamt of you. I imagined things that made me shiver. Whenever I sat next to you, so close to touching you, I was riven with a desire I knew I could not act on.

Your cool exterior. Your haughty distance. This is the very image of beauty I have carried with me across the plane of the years. The measure by which I have measured others. The weight of my longing. The colour of my love.

Seeing you again – after forever – has made the decades contract to the tiny circle of a warm embrace. I open my eyes and you are there in front of me, that smile of yours still so dazzling.

And your daughter – she carries your spark in her laughter – such that my memory is ablaze. Tonight I am walking with you once more in my dreams, awash in the undimmed shimmer of your mystery, shaking like the foolish boy who loved you in terrified silence all that time ago.

I have nothing to lose now – our paths will diverge again – and so I can say now what I never could back when: how I adored you. You were the treasure of my nascent love and you remain the still perfect idol of my flawed recollection. Even the years have not dulled the splendour of your young form.

These ramblings, I realise, are irrational. But just to say them out loud. To think that you might hear me. That this might make you smile that gorgeous smile of yours. The smile that cracked me open and led me to realise that to love one another was the highest possible honour that could ever be bestowed upon mortal beings.