Landscapes of the Heart

I’ve come across love letters, old ones, written me many many years ago. Those times when you’d have to wait days and even weeks for a letter to arrive.

I’d be poised, held in and up by moments that stretched over  long, unyielding days, taut and bruised, hopeful and nervous, excited for those first words, the slant of your writing, a fine pitch across the envelope with my name and address on it. How even then, I’d hold back, even as my fingers opened the envelope, my eyes searching your words, that line you wrote, “I love you a million times”, your name written with a curve and flourish, as gracious and sensuous as you, your body, mine, ours, the way you’d tilt your head as you spoke, eyes looking at mine, the sudden turn away, pain you never explained.

Even now, well beyond reason, your words trail through me, at once light and buoyant, a winding path that wanders back on itself, twists somewhere else, comes to an edge, slips into that stream where melancholy pools, and only the bough of that single tree remains, its reflection quivering in the shifting breeze over the water, our paths never again the same except now, in these brief moments when I remember us on the Pilgrim’s Way, making love out of the rain.

About bydda88

I love poetry, writing, especially writing as healing, as touching the sacred, being touched. And place, places dreaming us, us them. Coasts, rivers, canyons; the ordinary things too, the small things, gestures that reach out.
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2 Responses to Landscapes of the Heart

  1. AJ says:

    I love that time past is time present again wandering through you, turning back upon itself, as love does when it makes itself known. Letters, old and new to the moment, addressing your heart, your soul.

    Too painful an epistolary for me to keep, I have destroyed what all but destroyed me – ah love, that cruel hand and subtle, that came my way.

    Yours, an ever abiding movement of the heart.

    The gaze, the reflective essence of all that is, shared by the lovers.
    That you have touched base with what was and is – and continues to be ever evolving changing adapting imparting what only the heart can know.

  2. I sometimes dive into my treasure box of old letters or the other one, old diaries, and am amazed how transported I am – right back to that time, those feelings, those images. Words hold such power….

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