This story is twofold. On one level it is to my beloved, on the other, an ode to summer. Read it as you wish.
Everytime I think of writing something I am drawn back to you. Why do you haunt me so, what do you want?
Have I not loved you enough by now, I write you poems, talk to you, have you in my mind sometimes. But I need to be free of you too, I need space from you.
So here is what I will do, God help me, but write another poem to you. This time to you directly. I will write you back home. I dont know how we will do that exactly, perhaps I will have to visit your home. Not your tomb where I have been, but the town you grew up. Your country of birth. We can take this journey together, I for my enjoyement and you for yours. In doing this I let you share space with me, but in the awareness that you must not possess me so. And I know, I am so haunted by you.
Haunted has become such a precious word since your ghost came into my life. A beautiful memory of you.
Yes, please god, I shall visit your homeland and breathe the air that you breathed and played in as a child. Know my love for you is deep and I want you to have your own keep as I must have mine. Share we can, but yet not be so entwined. My dear, my beloved. Lets go home.
We will draw together in the sands of the lake near your home. Pick forget-me-knots and sail them on the lake. Laugh with the breeze in our hair, picnic and dine like a laird.
You will walk into the lake, glance back at me once, I will stand on the shore, you will swim, and the swallows will follow your wake.
#letters to the dead.