Look, at last you found me.

                                 Funny how that works....

                      There are many kinds of love letters.

     Some are magnificent gifts from lovers and beloveds, inked in gold on cream vellum and crafted with a courtly hand, sealed in red wax and delivered with a perfect rose sparkling with a single drop of rain. Always, these are delivered in sunlight and kissed by perfumed breezes.

     Some are written to yourself, to get yourself through the hard times, recognition of your own inner strength and beauty. They can be scripted in angst to ideas of beauty, honor and glory. Journals to one self, sometimes no more than  a diner napkin jotted with a life affirming idea kept in personal possession and re-read on dark days.

     Love letters are written to particular people as well; friends, lovers, partners, parents…pets even. These live on lined paper notebooks, cards and random scraps, cherished and held onto for the memories of empowerment they brought.

     Some love letters are written in blood though, crafted in ashes and screams, delivered in darkness and buried forever in the meat of your heart.

     No matter what though, you always know if a love letter is written to you.

     If you want this love letter, as you read it you feel warm, gifted, snuggled and happy. Your skin glows, your eyes are moist and bright.  The future rolls out before you, dust motes golden in the sun, call of the meadowlark honey sweet in your ears. Maybe your heart flutters some, and the air seems rare and clean. You feel good, physically and mentally. Safe, cared for.

     Oh, but when you read a love letter you don’t want. Your thighs cramp with brief pain echoed by the bounding of your heart. Sweat films your upper lip, burns in your skin and chills beneath your armpit. You feel like someone has been watching you a very long time, and they have seen secrets no one should see.

     Yes, sometimes you don’t want the love letter you receive.

     This is a love letter. I’ve been writing it a long, long time, and it’s not done yet. I’ve written it in the most personal ink that exists….my own blood.

              This is the love letter you don’t want…..just for you…

                                             Until Dawn

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                                random acts of disclosure...

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