You were the last dream I had. I guarded your heart. I was a downy blanket wrapped around your shoulders. I had to make sure you wouldn't ever fear such a beautiful thing.
After all, during the thousand nights in our tiny apartment in the city, it was not into my ear that you whispered but into my heart. I still hear you smile in the dark. Your name still clings to my lips. The memory of your hands still warms my curves.
Come wrap your arms around me from behind. Tuck your fingers into my pockets. Rest your chin on my shoulder like only you do.
They say without the drink, people see and taste with an unequaled clarity. But tell me, can you feel us now in primary colors? Is my intensity white hot, or is it the red of the amaryllis? Have the memories faded to pastels or are they in Technicolor for the first time?
La mort c'est la mort. Mais l'amour c'est l'amour. La mort c'est seulement la mort. Mais l'amour c'est l'amour.*
Your scars make me love you more. Nothing and no one will ever change that.
You are my one. But that isn't the first blessing. The first is knowing I am yours.
. . .
* Death is death. But love is love. Death is only death. But love is love.
15 comments:
my favorite part is rest your chin on my shoulder like only you do.
Mine too Ed! This is beautiful!
À toi, pour toujours.
"I can still hear you smile in the dark." Very nice!
The book idea is great. Everyone (even the author of this post now) has written a love letter, whether it was a note in 10th grade study hall handed over between periods or a letter to an amore away on vacation or a state away. I look forward to seeing the finished project.
@Anonymous: Mais vous ne m'avez pas répondu, l'amour. Sont nous dans la couleur maintenant?
And thanks for the kudos guys. :-)
"you were the last dream I had" - so intimate, so incredibly touching. The whole piece speaks right into my heart.
@SM Johnson - Thank you :-)
Surprisingly, the writing came easily. But then Anonymous commented and I bawled for about an hour. LOL
oui mon amour
@Anonymous: Quelle est la couleur que vous voyez? Il importe.
C'est le rouge des amaryllis.
Tres, tres bien.
Love is Death, and Death is Love also...le petit mort, and so many more meaning behind it...I love this love letter, by the way...
I'm thinking there's nothing wrong with a little death from time to time. It reminds us what matters. And thank you, Ayanna.
Oh my... I so love this! Now I have what... another blog to catch up on? LOVE THIS!
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