Tuesday, February 8, 2011

The Letters of Love Never Sent

This will be the last letter I ever write from my room by the river and it's probably appropriate that it should be to you since you are without question the person I've thought most about within these four walls. I'm sorting through my possessions and have realised how little you gave me, how little tangible evidence I have that I even knew you - two letters, a few photos, a few scraps of paper with messages on them.
     Last Saturday I went to a wedding. It was in a beautiful 13th century abbey in the Tuscan countryside. At one point I went outside and sat on the steps - there was a beautiful choir with these ethereal voices silvering the air and the meadows were bristling with poppies and cornflowers and as always happens when life is suddenly too beautiful for words you become part of the moment.
     Perhaps I didn't admit it to myself but I realise now there's always been hidden away in me the hope that you might suddenly discover one day that actually you couldn't go through the rest of your life without seeing me again. To imagine that moment - you shyly telling me the more vulnerable truths - enables me to realise how vast still is my capacity to be happy. That's another gift you've given me - because even if it never happens it's very close, like something in a neighbouring field which if I stand on tiptoes I can see and embrace as an inspiration at least. 


  1. This is so beautiful, Glenn.

    I wish I could write like this....even more, I wish I would be the receiver, not the indirect one, of such letters.

  2. Oh, that's lovely... especially the last sentiment which is, I think, expressed as beautifully as it ever could be.

  3. Ya big softie...

    '... how vast still is my capacity to be happy.' You at your life-affirming, achingly inspirational best, G.

  4. I could have written this. I refer to the content, not the impeccable and lyrical writing style.

    What keeps bringing me back to The Maze is beautiful writing combined with achingly poignant snapshots of life, familiar to many, nonetheless difficult to express. And underlying it all; so tenderly highlighted with delicate washes of sense and ambience, capturing the ephemeral genius loci of these singular moments.

  5. Achingly beautiful, especially the poignant last paragraph.

    I find love letters incredibly difficult things to write, in fiction.

  6. yes, this is written so well it makes me jealous, in a way (and most inappropriately too, given the letter's lack of petty jealousy).

    it is a noble thing both in feeling and expression, with a fresh generous spirit, apt for an affirmation of true love (to which possession is an afterthought).

  7. How anyone could not fall in love with a letter like that, I don't know. I wonder why it wasn't sent.

    (And I missed reading you when I was away. I'm going to savor every scrap.)