January 23rd. Original. Love Letters
Two little pieces came out of this. A disturbing tragic romance and a bizarre love letter from an anonymous lover
Dear Isabelle,
There is passion in my lungs fit for screaming. There's an empty ache where you belong, fit precisely to your dimensions and depth. Music plays and I swear I can hear your voice, clear and ringing with truth.
Do you remember that pulsating madness in my veins; how easily you calmed it on the heaviest nights? Do you remember August blazing in glory while we lay in the old row boat in the middle of the lake? We were so confident then that everything would pass. We were foolish to think we could escape our very nature.
My love, how wrong we were.
You sleep so deeply and I walk among the damned, tormented and burning in this sin alone. Forgiveness is not mine to ask, yet I am pleading for it.
When I join you my dear, I'll be expected a reply. You can damn me as they have done, as I do. Or you can give unto me the sweetness of your blessed redemption.
Yours in contemplation,
Henri
Dear you,
I miss you. I hate you. I love you. I can't believe what a wreck you are. I can't believe how much I would have given up for you. I can't believe I didn't give any of it up. I stuck to my guns. I stayed true to myself.
You probably hate me. You probably are very justified in this. So that's that.
Possibly the worst part of this whole thing is that I'm still madly in love with you.
Yours,
Me
Dear Isabelle,
There is passion in my lungs fit for screaming. There's an empty ache where you belong, fit precisely to your dimensions and depth. Music plays and I swear I can hear your voice, clear and ringing with truth.
Do you remember that pulsating madness in my veins; how easily you calmed it on the heaviest nights? Do you remember August blazing in glory while we lay in the old row boat in the middle of the lake? We were so confident then that everything would pass. We were foolish to think we could escape our very nature.
My love, how wrong we were.
You sleep so deeply and I walk among the damned, tormented and burning in this sin alone. Forgiveness is not mine to ask, yet I am pleading for it.
When I join you my dear, I'll be expected a reply. You can damn me as they have done, as I do. Or you can give unto me the sweetness of your blessed redemption.
Yours in contemplation,
Henri
Dear you,
I miss you. I hate you. I love you. I can't believe what a wreck you are. I can't believe how much I would have given up for you. I can't believe I didn't give any of it up. I stuck to my guns. I stayed true to myself.
You probably hate me. You probably are very justified in this. So that's that.
Possibly the worst part of this whole thing is that I'm still madly in love with you.
Yours,
Me