Love letter # 297
Tonight your light is of such a wondrous quality that, in the fire of its glow, I would gladly yield to the greater darkness. Your song so lovely I could fold into the oceanic silence. Here your gifts are so overwhelming that I could give them all to the void. In this moment beside you all time could cease. For with our love we have purged the world of its sturm und drang. Of its distracting drama. Leaving only this. The infinitely small and endless sea of now.
Love letter # 321
I recognised you in the gaps – the tiny spaces left between busyness, bubbliness and booze. Your dark heart, shining like a beautiful star. The one who yearns, who dips and soars, who wants something more. I saw her in the silences, in the way her eyes sometimes pierced the innumerable distances. Lonely, wondering, full of extraordinary fire.
She is the one I have not stopped thinking about. She is the one I would fly across the sea to meet again. To dance with her, slow and soft. To let her know. That love is the way – dangerous and dazzling – to heal the wounds of self in the mirror of the other.
Love letter # 371
It’s the playful glint in your eye. The smirking raised brow. The smile that seems to know pleasurable secrets. These and other things.
Like the velvet of your skin. Its downy feathers. Those plush and fruitful lips of yours. Even the way you walk. To me these are like treasures. Better still, the ecstasy of falling.
Whenever it’s the two of us – speaking in that magic tongue we invented – lighting fires as and when – I come to in Arcadia. For there is nothing so simple and clean as this – nothing more real than the realm of your kiss.
Love letter # 459
A song came on the radio today. Not one I hear that often – but one that still sings of our time together. While it played – and for a few minutes afterwards – I was in love with you all over again. All I could hear was your husky laugh. Taste your mouth. Feel what it felt like to be wanted by you.
Less romantic realities may have ground such wonders to predictable dust, yet my body still holds the sensations. My heart still sounds out your name. Not in deluded hope or obsessional fixation but in honour. For loving you was one of the most wonderfully intense and beautiful things I ever did.
I am not sure where you are tonight, or who you are with, but I am a fire in the arms of memory. Warmed. Glad to have once been so crazy.
I thank you once more for the blood you sent crashing through formerly ossified veins; because, having been broken over the back of you I am no longer afraid of anything. And I will die knowing what it was like to love as though nothing else mattered.
Which it doesn’t.
Love letter # 448
Love is like a carpark sometimes. Y’know, circling round, looking for somewhere to pull in. Hoping someone might let you in. There’s a distinctly numeric quality to it; something banal and utilitarian when viewed through a certain prism. Especially for those of us not blessed with the beauty, wealth or status aphrodisiac.
Into this category I most certainly fit. Just one of the many. A number plate in a multi-storey parking bay. Could be anyone really.
How fortunate I am then, that for reasons I simply cannot fathom, you hit upon me. You could surely have chosen others equally as suited – if not better.
Unspectacular though I am, I am not so foolish as to pick apart your reasons. Rather, I remain utterly grateful. In the lottery of selection that we ordinary folk are effectively condemned to, it looks like my numbers came up this time.
Honestly, I could kiss you for it. 🙂 xx
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 # 402
Was this how it was?
When we were together they could never hurt us. In our world there was no language – simply recognition. The song that played deep inside your heart was singing its heart out in mine.
Was that it – or did I make it up? Now I’ll never know. Just believe.
For by believing I can feel those arms around me. Sense that magic on the surface of my skin – little bumps, hairs on end. As though time had not flown. Doors not closed.
It may be a delusion – but what a gorgeous mirage to thirst for.
Here in the desert, I dream of flowers. Close my eyes and smell them. And in the ordinary walk of life, I am only ever a thought of you away from the presence of wonder – and therefore transformed.
Because, at the nearing of the hour, it will be joys such as these I shall ponder – and they shall fill the void with beauty. As you once did.
Love letter # 414
Forgive me – for I have been the fool of beauty. It has unwound me. Stripped me back. So much so that I wonder at its power.
What is this perfection of form, this ideal, that it so dissolves the structures of reason? How can a way of seeing, a kind of knowing, make so splendid the shape of the world that even though the sound mind senses the misty error of its perceiving, still it is swayed?
My years and all their collected and catalogued disappointments tell me that you are just one of many – another other, about which I know scarce more than optimism will contend – and yet … how you move in subtle glory. Fine of figure. Sweet of disposition. Sharp and quick of mind and humour.
Why is it that I would willingly blow my cover to show my heart to you? Why would I bend to shape of your touch? Kneel at the shrine of your kiss? Because there is something in beauty that must be revealed. Beheld.
We all are broken and corrupted creatures – yet in our beauty we are nigh divine. As you seem to me now. For here are the very bells – chiming like a song in your nearness – that have woken me from my sensible slumber and turned my maddened eyes to thee.
Love letter # 334
He sits waiting by the window at his favourite café, looking at his watch. She keeps her phone by her side, wondering when it will ring; startling at anything that sounds remotely like it might be him on the line. Now they both know what most of us come to know – the longing that will not be matched, the lover’s call unanswered.
For you and I this was the gateway to compassion. The dark hour that eventually dawned as the brightness of light.
Could it be that the kiss which never lands is the best kiss ever? Perhaps it is only when we starve that we come to see the true value of feeding. Because when I was alone in the night I woke up to the real beauty of your arms around me.
Maybe, through the agency of their yearning, our nameless young lovers will melt down their hard and prideful exteriors and make their newly softened skin ready to receive the next band of life-giving rain. For, as we both know, joy is the bloom of sorrow.
Love letter # 332
Your beauty is enough to have me doubt my calling. Whenever I am anywhere near you all those fine determinations unravel. Perhaps this is the weakness in me – or maybe it is my salvation.
At the idea of your embrace, my cleverness seems like so much arrogant pretence – for how can wisdom ever compare to a kiss? And when I dance with you – when we swoon – I am only in that moment with you – and there I am free.
It is in the brilliance of the light that I am at one. Without the weight of ideas. Released from the bloated denials of spirituality. This is the wonderful sea in which I float with you. Where I would gladly drown by your side.