VAN GOGH’S LOVE LETTER

Dear,

It would be too easy for me to say I love you but this is something bigger than myself and I’m scared. This is something that keeps me awake at night, something that sings inside my chest like a trapped nightingale, something that makes you feel as if you were standing in the middle of the train tracks and a train is coming and you can feel the earth reverberate with its weight, a herald of what’s to come, the song of a machine except that this one is alive and it’s coming, it’s coming.

It would be too easy for me to take your hand (metaphorically speaking), put it on my chest, and say, this is god, this is magic, this is blood and this is alive. This is you, and all creation myths began with a word, a gesture.

It would be harder to paint the night sky for you, to find the words that could only roughly describe my feelings for you, to open the Schroedinger’s box of mystery.

- How do souls touch? I keep calling you dear but I would have preferred beloved, because you would be loved.