After letters Nov. 2nd

I’ve nearly gotten past the foolish feelings that come whenever I sit to write to you. I know most other people would call me strange but they thought that about me anyways. Oddly it reminds me of when I wanted to approach you in real person. Clearly I was out of my depth, my class with you but somehow you provided me the courage to see us through. Thank you and God again for that. Its not that you were hard to speak with or inattentive, for me, in fact you’re just that beautiful and intelligent, and for oddballs like myself, that can seem unsettling, a touch intimidating. I always felt you read me faster than I could ever explain myself in words or concept. If we have angels on earth amongst us, surely you are one of them. There simply is no other way to explain you, being you.

Winter seems to have come early this year. Fall appears to have taken an over-stayed vacation of summer, somewhere else. Days reached over a hundred that past few weeks but now they’re lucky to reach fifty. Predawn definitely seems colder now here on this side of the mountains or I’m just noting your absence next to me more often these days. There’s also more than enough coffee each morning for me; trouble is, I don’t seem to be looking for that third or fourth cup anymore like when we sat and just chatted half of the morning away talking about nonsensical things. But there are times when I’m walking or riding through the chasms early that I’m brought to a stand still. I swear I can her your whispers talking to me as those swirling southeasterly breezes chased up the slopes to the summits where Eagle nest. Maybe its just past conversations we had still echoing, as we walked hand in hand meandering through tall golden grasses of the meadows in the late afternoons before returning here for some of your fresh peach pie? Oh God, how I so miss your cooking everyday.

I know I’ve gotten a little lax on repairs around here as of late. Don’t worry my beloved, I’ll get my chores done before the snow covers the mountain tops. And yes I know I didn’t plant any pickles this year, you know I was never found of them that much and I only planted for you. Your flower beds bloom right on time and thrive in the sunlight as if they were sunbathing naked on exotic ocean banks. And yes, I’m still upset with the power that be, that unfairly took you away from me. I know its selfish of me, and I may never be forgiven over it, but I am human and this void of you in my heart- was never going to be refillable. I’m sure if our roles were reversed, you’d been stronger, and certainly more forgivable.

I can see the moon in the pale blue distance slowly approaching here. It reminds me of when we sat on the front porch rocking and watching it silently make its way to our door after desert each night. I’ll close for now dear so I can go rock a bit before bedtime. I’m certain today, if you never understood how deeply I loved you before you left, you most certainly do now. Hell- on second thought, who am I kidding, you must have known all along like everything else.

Until next, I write from my heart…to you.

Poet of the Light © 2020

32 thoughts on “After letters Nov. 2nd

      1. Just looked it up and listened. I enjoyed it and the story being told. I think get the connection. Nice tempo. Music and songs have always had an influence on me listening and my writing. Thank you for sharing.

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    1. The woman in question was his wife, who passed away and he still writes to her each day in his daily diary, in the same context and tone as if she is still with him… listening. Thank you for reading and commenting. For some, love remains long “after” the person loved has left.

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      1. Ahhh, but she didn’t pass away, she cheated on him and left him (and we all know how that feels!)! A wife who passed away….you would indeed have every right and every reason to spill your heart’s sorrows onto the pages of a diary….in the same context and tone as if she *were* still with him by the way—-> aanvoegende wijs! (Hey!, unsolicited but certainly Authentic Feedback!) But if someone leaves you for someone else, the whispers and tears of a poet’s heart are at great risk of resembling self-pity after a time, which won’t do you any good. Instead of being freed from the well of your title-page, your musings – however beautiful they are – would keep you imprisoned instead! You risk creating a universe for yourself in which you feel more at ease than in the real world that you experience as treacherous and unfair. I just meant to shake you up a little!, ’cause I would hate to see that happen to anyone as sensitive, open-hearted, painfully honest and thoroughly romantic as you are. (Sorry! Why don’t I just mind my own business, right?) “For some, love remains long “after” the person loved has left.” And you know why that is? That’s because that love is inside you, it’s been there all along: it’s called your heart. The person you loved just crossed your path (some would say at just the right time) for you to “project” your love onto. It’s YOUR love, not hers. It’s your love, and she didn’t take it with her, it’s still there. She was just a mirage; your love, your heart, is real. She was a fool to let you go! There, I said it. You can take that to heart….

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      2. I respect your belief about love and its true ownership but I disagree with your premise. For the factual record, someone I love did actually die, not simply jilt me for another.

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