![]() But in the end the night still fell – and before the morning came I had lost you to the shadows. You were my vespertine angel, my melancholy queen, and I was your lone hero, fighting the darkness on your behalf. If I was made of stronger stuff I would most likely tough it out – but I am made of longing and impossible hunger – and I will not inflict the spectacle of my pathetic starvation on either of us.Īu revoir, my love. I cannot stand your loveliness – the way it hovers so near and then withdraws at the merest touch. Perhaps it is I to whom all the folly belongs. Maybe you have not set out to beguile and fool me at all. I stand ready to offer you all the love in the world – but if you will not receive it I will neither force it upon you nor suffer your teasing delight at my reflexive adoration. I am certain you will think me ridiculous in this but I would rather imagine that acerbic snarl of yours than stumble again into the honey trap you so beautifully set for me. When you flash your smile – your eyes, your cleavage – I will no longer go to water. It is a torment I am now refusing to bear on behalf of my absurd, hormonal optimism. No longer will I rise in stupid hope to be slapped by the slamming door. ![]() No more will I sit there, my affections being milked by you for whatever gratification this gives you. My issue is with your behaviour – or rather, my reaction to it. This I have no issue with, much as it cuts me. I feel that you toy with my feelings – enjoy the dumb, supplicant fact of them – but that you do not, never have and never will, reciprocate. But alas, I feel that I need to say this: I can no longer continue. How much I have not wanted to write this letter. The things I remember – they are music once more.īe free, my angel – set the stars on fire.Īnd always know, whenever, wherever, no matter what – here in the beautiful corner – that light … that light…that light. So now I can breathe – and it is joy – and my heart is free at last to beat out the rhythm of your name without bleeding. Though I can number my faults in the thousands, I am grateful for my two lone virtues – for I have learned to give without asking and love just because. But my love for you…did I not say it was forever? The noisy drama of heartbreak, the messy entanglement of separation – it was temporary. The room is cleared of wreckage and the song we used to dance to plays softly in the newly calmed space the sound of tenderness – uninterrupted after all. And now – with all the rowdy gatecrashers gone home – my love remains in quiet triumph. This morning I woke to find that sorrow had turned back to sweetness. ![]() See – much better to type it out than to fence it in. I can tumble in that crazy deluge knowing that at least I’m getting somewhere. Letting the dam burst wash me to the sea. So here I am – blurting to the safe ether. How can I be quiet when there is music in everything? Even when I’m begging not to feel, even when the blood is sticky and my fingers are trembling, even as I drink to forget. And my love for you suffuses everything to this minute. Your warm ardour, your momentary faith in me – it changed the way I breathe. The brakes stopped working – and in their place…flight.įalling. Your temporary tenderness kicked over the traces. Through some strange gate you found your way inside me. Why be mad for trinkets when you can be mad for angels? Even if I lose the distinction between ecstasy and despair. I will become a figure of memory – someone you once knew.įor love that does not even whisper is wont to become poison in the veins – and I would rather have the golden light. It will not keep quiet and neither will I.īut you will get no cards. It sits behind my edifice of pretence my pretending to be okay. Right beneath my fingertips visceral, unreasoning, eternally narcotic glory is triumphing over text book ordinariness.Īnd your not being here, your not responding – it has done nothing to quiet that inspired song. I know I promised not to mention it but a dumb wall cannot hold back such a beautiful rush. So maybe this is it – some kinda wild river. It is the light that shines when you’re not here. I can answer only by saying that the secret unleashing of floods is a euphoric liberation. This is love without hooks, without points of order.īut what becomes of love when it’s dammed? Does it pour through cracks? Does it threaten sudden inundation?
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