Writing My Way Back Home.

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.

Swallow Image: https://www.livingwithbirds.com/tweetapedia/21-facts-on-swall9ws

#letters to the dead.



Sometimes I can almost touch you you are so real.

In my minds eye you take form, but who is forming who? As I form you, you form me.

Form me, shape me, mould me. Can you smell the scent of my skin as I yours?

Can you almost see me stood in front of you or by your side?

If this is prayer, then it is blessed. Pray for me as I you.

Letters to you.

Blank pages full of omnipresent silence. Oh how we could share our journey together you and I. What stories we would tell. What insights we would share. What bonds of love and trust we would build together. But alas. Our pages are blank. Two entities staring one another in the eye. Our gaze held, transfixed with the fear of one should break this gaze we will fall each into their own Abyss. Lost to each other forever. How silly we are. For if we both our trust in our pens, our faith on paper, we would meet somewhere. In a letter.