'Love' Letters

 Oh, dearest,

I saw your face for the first time today. You are so beautiful. I walked in your footprints, and my feet fit so, so well in your path. I was made for you, made to be yours, made to uplift you. I will see you again.

Please don’t hide from me. You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t. I am the only one who sees you, the only one who needs you, the only one you need. Please show me again, show me your face.

…

WHY won’t you show me? Why? Don’t hide from me.

At last! A glimpse, a glitter, I saw you again. Oh, how you make my heart flutter. Oh, how I want to sing when I see you. Dearest, darling, deliciousness. Your hair stiff to the wind, your eyes like agates set in the marble of your pale face. Beautiful, so wonderful, no one else could compare.

I wrote you a poem. I woke in a fever last night, in a frenzy. I see you in dreams, in nightmares, you are so distant, so cold. I long to touch you, but you dance out of my grasp again and again. I try to content myself with the sight of you, but I long for more. I wrote you a poem, but I am no poet.

I have seen you in a nightmare sleeping,

I will see you more in waking moments.

Love of mine staring, flying, and weeping,

An angel in form and goddess of love.

I am no poet.

I showed you my words and you hid your face in the shadows. After so much work, again you flee! Ludicrous, ridiculous. Do you want me to despise you? Do you want me to desecrate the love I feel? Why do you torment me so?

My words mean so little, my body less still. I have tried, haven’t I? I adore you. I know, I believe, that you love me too.

I saw more of you today, your throat in spouts of water, your legs in the length of fence-posts. You are the elegance of the world, the grace of winter, the warmth of summer sunlight, the spectacle of starlight. My mind cannot contain the wonder of knowing you.

You wore whit in my dreams, so I spun a dress for you. Long and light, the softness of silk and the strength of twine. I will give it to you, when I see you in full.

I have lost you.

The hammer was heavy, my hands were sore. You were bruised and broken, and I wept for the fool I am. I have destroyed you, the beauty I have sought, the love I have nurtured. Miserable creature, pitiable wretch, I am a horror of flesh. An aberration of awfulness. I love you.

You made me do this, you, with your concealment and your deceit. I know you loved me, I know I was made for you, you knew it too. Why did you make me do this? I would never hurt you, I would never break and shatter you, bruise and batter you. Your fault, your fault, your fault.

I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you…

I saw you again today. Your face, pristine and perfect. You were smiling at me, inviting me into your arms. I wept and forgave you. You deserve it. You are so very beautiful, my pale rosebud.

This night was perfect. I have worshipped every inch of you from the dark, your face unto your toes, your slight fingers and smooth stomach. I clothed you in the silk I spun, and the cloth brought such life to your stillness. You don’t know how perfect you are, but how could you really? I can scarce comprehend it myself.

I awoke to madness. You are gone, vanished, your pedestal empty, the dust of you blown away by fierce winds. I searched for you, raging, weeping. Who has taken you, who has spirited you away? I will find you, they will regret that they dared take you from me.

I found you in the town. I can’t believe it. I saw you in a sunbeam, and you are more beautiful in the daylight. You walked, and your gait was so lovely that I was brought to tears. I wept as I followed you along the paving, stepping in your footsteps as I had done before. There was such wonder in the way you moved, free at last to drink in the world. You squinted in the sunlight, but smiled at the warmth. Your hands played over surfaces, and I could see your delight in the smoothness of stone and softness of wool. Your smile was brighter than the refraction of light in water. Oh, your beauty, your beauty is unmatched by any mortal. I got close to you, walked beside you, suddenly as timid as a beast. The flush of life in your skin that had been so bloodless was a marvel. The day painted such colour in you. You glanced at me and smiled. I saw no recognition in your gaze, but such kindness as to warm the coldest heart. It broke me, as surely as I had broken you. I fled, as you had, but my feet took me from you, where you had gone from me only in my mind. I ran all the way back to your pedestal, and threw myself to where your feet had stood.

I am not worthy of you. My love is not love, it is a horror, an imposition. I have seen love, it was in your eyes. It was not jealous, it was not clutching. It would not take a hammer to that which it could not have. I am weak. I wish I could love you as you love all that you now, truly, see.

I have been cursed. My work has shown me that I cannot love, cannot be loved. Even you would not love me, if you knew what perversion had been part of your creation. I am flawed, and you are perfect.

How? I have watched you. You sleep in the groves, and the beasts do not trouble you. You walk in the town, and the people do not see you. How? I saw your kindness, the aid you brought to the lowly and the infirm, the gentleness of your soul and the beauty of your love. How? How could hands so clumsy, a soul so sickly, a heart so coarse have produced such wonder as you?

I do not want to worship you. You are perfect, but you are a person. My fault was to think that I deserved you, just because I could make you. Did I? Was I entitled to the work of hands, the labour of my mind, the struggle of my soul? Perhaps when you were stone, but never in flesh.

I approached you today, finally. I spoke to you. Your speech is slow and rough, the way of barbarians that have only recently learned language. As we spoke, the worship in my foolish soul withered, but something else has begun to grow. I do not know what it is, but it feels… right.

I helped you with your work this morning. It was hard labour, carrying water to the elderly that cannot fetch it themselves. But no matter the weight, your disposition never faltered, even as your back bowed and bent. Your joy in aiding them was more beautiful than even your face.

You wept today. A man, one that you had been helping since the day you awoke, had died. I didn’t know him, which surprised me. I realise that I have not been a citizen in the place in which I live. You have been far better to them than I, in a few short months against my years. As I sought to comfort you, I realised what my growing feeling towards you was: admiration.

I have begun sculpting again. I cannot rival the perfection of you, but I can make other things. My work has a life to it, life that you have leant me. Animals, people, objects, even gods and monsters, all flow and dance beneath my hands. They delight rich patrons, and the gold they give me goes to help the townsfolk.

The burden of your work is lightened as the gold I have offered attracts more hands to help. There is satisfaction and sadness in your face. I wonder at the latter.

You asked me a question that I had no answer to. One I dreaded to hear. Where you came from, who I was to you. I feel that I cannot be true to you. But, nevertheless, I must tell you.

I told you the truth.

You accepted it with such grace, embraced me with your kindness. I realise, now, that I love you again, but not as I did before. It is so quiet, so peaceful. It is happiness at the thought of you, it is a smile in answer to yours, it is wanting you safe, and desiring your peace. It lacks the clawing desperation of before. I love you, truly.

You were not made for me. I was made to create you, to protect you, to uplift you. I asked you what you wanted, and you did not know. I will give you whatever you desire, anything I have to give. I withdraw my claims on your beauty, it is yours.

You left today. I didn’t cry, though my eyes were heavy with tears. I waved farewell as you departed, and watched until the horizon hid you in its vastness. I try not let my fears consume me. My heart goes with you, dearest.

The town is better for having you. I have found more love here than I ever thought I could. Your letters delight me, your tales of lands I will never see. Thank you, brave flower, for all you are, for all you give. I will forever have you in my soul.

You are loved,

Your Father.