Letters of the Blue Light

Aug. 22, 2023

My dearest Milagro,

I sit bathed by the glow coming through the etched blue glass of your lamp. Finding your carved desk with your own bronze name plate on it too, at the antique auction, was so exciting.

My collection of antique books, your original volumes of poetry and novels, are stacked on the desk that was yours.

In the quiet of the evening, with soft light streaming through the delicate etchings on the blue glass of the light I can almost sense your presence.  The shadows of the room seem to hold your form. Your face sometimes seems to waver on the windows where my jasmine scented candle shines.

Your poem speaks to me daily from it’s frame on the wall.

 “Soul of my love, fantasy dream, Are you ethereal as you seem? Hair part of the whispering wind, Floating about you, when it’s unpinned. You couldn’t be part of this world, Ghostly beauty and grace unfurled. Tomorrow let’s run off into the mist, where rosy dawn bears the sun’s kiss.”   

How I yearn to live in your time when romance and love were so different. I dream at night of being with you. But I know we are separated by over 100 years.

Tonight, I place this letter with the others, next to your etched blue light. And I go to sleep at night with my soul dreaming of you.

Sweet dreams wherever you are in the worlds beyond, my love,

Cristina

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Aug. 22, 1890

Sweetest Cristina,

You have no way of knowing I have read every one of your letters as they appeared magically next to my blue light in the mornings, right here on the desk as I write. 

It pains me so that I can see from your letters that my letters are not appearing for you, in your own time.

But I will continue to write poetry and novels for you, my love, with the hope that someday in your own time you will read them.  Maybe someday, somehow, you will know I wrote them about my love for you, sweet Cristina.

How I long to run away with you in the early dawn, and to run my fingers through your flowing hair. To kiss your lovely face lightly, then to kiss your ruby lips less lightly. To caress you and whisper my love poems into your ear.

My love for you is eternal and transcends the ages. My heart prays that someday one of my letters will reach you. 

I have fallen in love with you through your letters, and each day I write more poems to express my feelings. Every morning when I awake I rush to check the blank papers on my desk, breathless, bursting with hope and excitement. When I see your lovely curving handwriting I settle with it into my chair by the window with my morning tea.

If only I could get on one of the ships with tall sails and cross the waves of time to you, my love.

I recite my poetry about you to the groups who gather around me at the taverns.  When they beg for more I dream of you and tell those visions to them, later writing them down to create my novels.

You don’t know how you inspire me and give my life meaning. Knowing I am loved raises me to such bliss. The creativity flows like a river, ideas coming to me so fast my mind races.

Never knowing when your letters will appear under my blue desk light in the mornings makes my life vivid, exciting and full of the joy of the surprise letters.

My heart, my soul, my love, all for you, my dearest Cristina,

Milago

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Aug. 23, 2023

My Dearest Sweet Love, Milagro,

As evening falls and the nightbirds sing, I feel your presence so strongly tonight as I sit by the antique blue light. My romantic heart was born in the wrong time era. These days I flee from the pushy advances and rushed expectations of the men who approach me.

How I dream of being in the arms of a man like you. How I dream of hearing your soft voice speaking your poems into my ear. If only imagining could make it come true.

Writing in this diary each evening seems to almost take me to you. I can almost feel your embrace. In the twilight breezes I pretend to hear your voice. 

Each night I place my jasmine candle by the window so in its flickering glow I can almost glimpse a vision of your face, your eyes looking into mine.

As I fall asleep at night, my last thought is of you, your poetry, your stories. My very essence seems to float away in to the mist with you as we go to a world where we are together. 

It is late and I will go to sleep now and to dream of you. Tonight as I write it seems more than ever that you are somehow here speaking to me in a way without words. These thoughts are the warm blanket and the soft pillow that brings me peaceful rest.

Good night, dearest Milagro of my dreams,

Cristina

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Aug. 24, 1890

Oh, My Beloved, How I Long for You, Cristina,

When the writing on your latest diary letter magically appeared on the blank paper next to my blue reading lamp on the desk, my heart overflowed with joy. To be loved in such a way and by such a woman. Every night as you dream of me, I am dreaming of you. 

If only these letters I write, after yours appear on my desk in the mornings, would appear on your blank paper too. What spell, what magic, what power can I find to make this happen? 

If only these dreams could whirl through the labyrinths of time and bring you to me. I would never stop holding you, loving you, kissing you, whispering my poems to you. The love we would have would be eternal and even beyond forever.

I sit now in the soft morning light by the window, looking out at the sea and tall sails on the ships.  As the sun reflects on the window, I can almost see a faint face as if you are here. 

More and more each day, I feel a strange sense of someone near my desk and light. Sometimes there seems to be a form in the shadows, and I blink, telling myself to stop imagining.

Beloved, my thoughts float to surround you, wherever you may be now. May you someday know the joy I feel by finding a letter from me magically appearing on the blank paper on my desk under the glow of my blue light.

Yours, forever and ever my love,

Milagro

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Beloved and Dearest Milagro,

Some mysterious ailment is affecting me as I write in my diary to you now, and I am feeling very strange today. Oh, how I wish you could be with me for real or that you could read my letters.

Ever since I got up this morning I felt an unusual lightness, as if my body were no heavier than air. It is a pleasant feeling and there is also an uplifting feeling today as if something wonderful may happen. 

This morning I found I had left the antique blue light on all night and it was as if the desk was bathed so long in this glow that there was an iridescence shimmering on everything the blue light touches. Even my hands and arms look like they are glowing.

When I look around the room and out the window everything reminds me of an impressionistic painting with unusual light affects making the colors shift a little.

Now I feel I must still be dreaming and I am telling myself to wake up. I am having a dream where I am standing by your desk with the blue light on it, but instead of being in my home here, I am in a historic room looking out to sea at ships with tall sails.

Stranger yet, my love, as I sit at your desk writing this, I am even dreaming I see you with your arms outstretched and your eyes looking into mine. 

As I write this I am wondering what is happening. I tell myself to wake up from this vision but…but…what is happening..... where am I?