Love Letters

A category of poetic Love Letters written for those who have experienced the turbulence of love, lust, heartache and loss.


Remember when we first met? We finished our first conversation and you asked for my number. I looked down and said, “I have a partner”. You half smiled and replied, “Can’t you have friends?”

I do.

Remember when you crept up behind me that night, cupped my hips and pulled me directly into you? You hugged me so tight and I felt eyes, from a room full of people, burn my skin.

I do.

Remember when we ended our first phonecall, which went well past 3am? I hid my laughter in my pillow. There was a silence, then you asked me if I felt it too.

I do.

Remember when you planned a spontaneous weekend away? I said yes before you finished the sentence, and skipped joyfully all of the way to the trainstation.

I do.

Remember when you told me that you stopped using? You said that drugs didn’t leave you with the positive feeling I did.

I do.

Remember when we first had sex? I was so anxious and guilt-ridden, that I stopped midway and cried in your arms. I couldn’t look you in the eye.

I do.

Remember when you told me you loved me for the first time? I was babysitting, and almost dropped the child out of shock. I told you that you didn’t know what you were feeling.

I do.

Remember when we struggled to finish a day’s work? We were so tired from speaking every night past midnight, but we kept repeating our mistakes.

I do.

Remember when we parked the car that night, at the Vet with the faulty light? I told you that I didn’t know what I wanted. You spat the words ‘never again’ and drove me home.

I do.

Remember when I tried calling you on a blocked number? You heard my voice, said nothing, and never answered again.

I do.

Remember when you contacted me from America? We reminisced on Skype for hours. You told me you didn’t know if you’d come back home.

I do.

Remember when we saw each other at lunch that day? I could feel you watching me through your sunglasses. You smiled at me, and I in return.

I do.

Remember when I told you I had fallen ill? You told me that I was strong, and that you would stay this time to support me.

I do.

Remember when we drove to the park and laid under the stars? You asked me if I was happy, and I said no. You told me you weren’t happy too.

I do.

Remember when you drove me home that blistering hot night, and I told you that you never left my thoughts? You told me that we would happen in good time.

I do.

Remember when we shared our second-first kiss? You grabbed me from the car window, pulled me into you and left me breathless.

I do.

Remember we had our second-first time? You kissed every inch of my body, and whispered in my ear “I never want to leave”.

I do.

Remember when we held hands for the first time in public? We both said ‘I’m so happy’ on queue, and giggled childishly.

I do.

Remember when I was craving Ben & Jerry’s, and you said that it would make my stomach turn? I sulked all of the way home, and you surprised me with a tub when I hopped into bed.

I do.

Remember when I could hear noises that windy night, coming from outside? I cornered you into the wall and took up the entire bed. You still cuddled me.

I do.

Remember when we had our first argument? You told me that I’d never be good enough to meet your Mum, and then you cried in my arms apologetically.

I do.

Remember when I told you that my weak spot was my family? You said that you admired my love and protection for them.

I do.

Remember when we were in bed and I asked you what you were thinking? You said you could see yourself married to me one day. I grabbed your hand and squeezed it tight.

I do.

Remember our first public outing as a couple? You kissed me in front of our friends and kept your eyes glued to mine the entire time.

I do.

Remember when you were contemplating moving back to America? You said that the only thing stopping you was leaving your cousin behind. I cried.

I do.

Remember when you bought my Mum flowers for her birthday, and she told you that you had made her day? I told you that she loved you more than me, and you smiled.

I do.

Remember when I told you that I missed my period? You cursed and said that you weren’t ready to be a Dad, but you couldn’t live with yourself if I got rid of it.

I do.

Remember when I called you crying after the Doctor’s visit? I told you that my body had rejected it. You told me you were busy and couldn’t speak.

I do.

Remember when I got you an interview with the University? You held my chin, kissed my lips, whispering repeatedly that you were thankful for me.

I do.

Remember when you went missing for days and once you finally resurfaced, admitting that you had been using? I contacted a helpline and begged them for guidance.

I do.

Remember when you cooked for us, in my kitchen? You kissed my head and told me you wanted to move in with me.

I do.

Remember when I bought you a schoolbag to celebrate your enrolment in the New Year? You wore the bag around the house, grinning like a schoolboy.

I do.

Remember when you moved out of home? You begged me to stay the night, and that my company was the only one that you wanted.

I do.

Remember when you made me breakfast that morning? You asked me if I wanted more sausage, and I giggled as I revealed that I had already stolen some from your plate.

I do.

Remember when you told me that you didn’t feel our chemistry anymore? I laughed because I thought you were joking.

I do.

Remember when we had sex that night? I told you that I loved you, and you said nothing.

I do.

Remember when you said that you could not fall in love with me because I was a class beneath you? That I came from a family of peasants? You could hear my heart hit the floor.

I do.

Remember when you called me to say that you lost the bag I bought you? I told you it was okay; then hung up the phone and cried.

I do.

Remember when you said that I wasn’t enough anymore? That you’d eventually leave me for a girl who was prettier and smarter than I?

I do.

Remember when I accused you of using me? You told me that you weren’t thinking straight and had confused what you saw in me, with what you really wanted.

I do.

Remember when you said that we’d never be together; that you needed me to move on? I pinned you to your bed and shook my head in tears.

I do.

Remember when you said goodbye for the final time? You told me you’d always love me, but I wasn’t enough.

I do.

Remember when I begged you to reconsider? I screamed that you wouldn’t get another chance. You told me that you didn’t need one.

I do.

Remember when I cried for weeks after you stripped me of all of my love and kindness?
Remember when I put all of my weakself into you, because I feared losing you again?
Remember when I replayed your spiteful words over and over in my head like a broken record?
Remember when I looked through each of our photos, feeling sick to my stomach from memories?
Remember when you made me feel so worthless and unimportant, that I wanted to die?

No, you don’t remember,
but I do.
I remember.

Theories of Love.

A conversation between my Doctor and I:
Him: “You need to allow yourself to relax and be loved. Do you understand what I mean?”
Me: “I cannot relax. I am losing my memory, my vision and ability to think, and…”
Him: “Be loved. Relax and be loved. Do you understand that?”
Me: “Sex?”
Him: “I meant more of a massage by…”
Me: “Oh, I’m seeing my Acupuncturist this week and he can massage out my…”
Him: “No, stop. More intimate than that. To feel another’s touch, to walk and hold hands, to feel the person you used to be”
Me: “How, when all I know is the person that I am now?”
Him: “Look up the 5 Love Languages and take the test. Find out where you fit and then allow yourself to be loved. Illness has consumed your ability to feel, so try and not think about the illness. Think about your feelings”
Me: “Is this some positive-thinking-and-you’ll-feel-better-crap?”
Him: “No, trust me”

As noted in one of my previous posts, my Doctor requested that I take a trip away and allow myself to “relax entirely and be loved”. He was ripping his hair out too; hence the ‘break’ that we desperately needed to come back cleansed and start over.
My Doctor and I have become very well acquainted. He knows that I have been struggling financially, am ripping my hair out over my new neurological symptoms and have just had my heart absolutely pulverised by the Polish Meat Beater.

I have felt heartache before, but nothing like this.
I am naturally a carer, a lover, a giver. I gave all of myself to this creature who I thought was perfect, and he stripped me down and made me feel worthless. He was my best friend, and we had history, a spark like no other. It was a build up over many years, and when we were finally each other’s I had never felt happiness or contentment quite like it. We spoke every day. We shared secrets. We knew each other better than anyone else.

Everything was perfect, until it wasn’t.

I was called a Peasant, and he brought my family into the picture also referring to them as ‘lower grade’ after they welcomed him with open arms. I was suddenly unintelligent, that I would amount to nothing in my life and that nobody could ever love me with this illness. Coming from the guy who I thought was my true love, I was beyond devastated – anyway, lets get back to the story.

I left my Doctor’s room mostly confused, and slightly irritated.
I had loved perfectly fine before, but the illness had not helped.
It’s incredibly hard to have a relationship with someone and be sick.
I grew to realise that a partner will always feel the need to tread carefully around you in case you snap, which you will.

It’s a vicious cycle of anger, love, anger, love, and it’s not at all your fault;
Hold me, no don’t touch me.
Kiss me, no I feel nauseous.
WHY DIDN’T YOU HUG ME?! No I’m in so much pain.
I want pasta, no I want salad, no wait I want nothing.
I don’t know how to feel, why don’t you love me?

After my episode with the Polish Meat Beater, I felt defeated.
I didn’t want to hold hands with anyone, or ‘feel another person’s touch’. I was quite happy to never have sex again and isolate myself from the male gene entirely, and then it hit me like a tonne of bricks. I had built up a pretty high wall to protect myself, and all of the energy I spent on loving others… loving him, was now spent on my illness. I was on a constant speed to ‘get better’; take this medication, take another one, eat and eat until hopefully my stomach will just give in and let me have peace, go to this appointment, book that appointment, who else do I see?
My day was solely made up of illness crap.

So, I went home and researched the Five Love Languages that my Doctor spoke of.
I usually don’t buy into stuff like this, but what I found was incredibly intriguing and it actually… made sense.

A man by the name of Gary Chapman wrote a book in 1995 suggesting that Love was made up of five parts, in which he called the Five Love Languages; gifts, quality time, words of affirmation, acts of service and intimacy.
We each have one primary and secondary preferred Language in which we preach. He makes it known that these Five Love Languages exhaust each human, and that we cannot be truly at peace with our partner or ourselves unless they match or meet our primary Love Language.
For example, one male partner may believe that gifts are of importance to show love, yet the female believes that intimacy is more of an importance. An automatic roadblock has been created, because whilst the male partner is waiting for gifts to be received, the female partner is waiting for intimacy. Okay, so the male partner buys the female woman a gift – the female would prefer intimacy. In order to love wholeheartedly, an ideal partner would have to understand how you need to be loved.

In order to truly discover your Love Languages, one must “observe the way that they express Love to others, and analyse what they complain about and request the most”.

We use all Five Love Languages in our every day lives, some more than others. We mostly use them when we are hurt, emotional and for apologies.
The books summarises that a person will naturally give Love the way they wish to receive it, and if two partners are on different wave-lengths, they will usually have more difficulty within their relationships. Chapman does make it very clear that this theory does not mean that two different Love Language Partners are not a ‘match’. The theory just suggests that until you both exercise the idea of each other’s true wants and needs, you will not love fully.

If you are anything like me, and you have barricaded yourself behind a wall of cement, or maybe you and your partner are going through some communication difficulty, this test is a great step in the right direction of understanding Love. Once you are aware of what you need, you will be better connected to yourself, your current partner, and more cautious when choosing a future partner.

It also made me think about my illness. My Illness has changed the way I love, and want to be loved. My results would have been very different if I took the test a year ago, because I was unappreciative and saw life in a different light. I realised that it doesn’t matter if I am sick – I can still be loved.

My results left me with a sense of empowerment. I felt as though I regained immediate control of how I want to be Loved. I will now be extremely cautious of who I share my heart with. Love is a deep connection, and we each deserve to feel it, but after taking this test I want to feel it the right way. Don’t be with someone who cannot meet your needs and makes you feel unimportant.

I want to be loved entirely.

I am eager to purchase the entire novel, as the website only gives you a snippet of the material.
Society summarises Love as one feeling; you either feel it or you don’t. Well what if some do not know how to feel it?
This post has taught me is that Love is made up of many different levels, and that there are many ways to Love. It is not as simple as just loving.

If my post hasn’t convinced you, just take ten minutes out of your day to take the test. It’s definitely a breath of fresh air from focusing on my symptoms.
Don’t overthink the questions. Some of them will definitely play on your thoughts. Just be natural; the first thing that comes to your mind.


C, xo


is my wall,
with your fingerprints;
a canvas of your presence in my bed.

is my heart,
with your beatings;
a punching bag torn and sewn with thread.

is my mind,
with your promises;
a distortion of an eternity together.

are my wounds,
with your bare hands;
a hole left to rott forever.

is the feeling,
you instilled in me;
a confidence now enveloped in shame.

is my colour,
with your darkness;
a failure with no-one else to blame.

is my breath,
with your grasp;
a strength I am unable to free.

is my worship,
of your soul;
a future of love without me.


My sheets still have your scent scattered all over,
So I stripped them clear in attempt to wash you away.

My neck still tingles from where you planted the softest of kisses,
So I scrubbed away your lips until my skin bled.

My body is marked from your bites and nibbles,
So I concealed them from the judging eyes of others.

My desk is the haven for each thrust and moan,
So I sheathed it with tissues soaked from crying with ache.

My fingers were left open for yours to fit perfectly,
So I clenched my fist until it went numb.

My eyes captured your loving gaze in a picturesque moment,
So I closed them in hope that the black shadows would blind me.

My kindness was served on a gold platter and abused,
So I was forced to be selfish and never trust a soul again.

My memories are tainted with your intimate words,
So I blocked them out by repeating your falsities.

My heart beat loud with your name engraved into its tissue,
So I cut deep into my flesh hoping I’d stop it from beating.

My breath was steady when you flashed that gorgeous smile,
It is now erratic and accompanied by chest pain.

My stomach once held an enclosure of beautiful butterflies,
Then the bile rose and killed off each and every flutter.

You promised me the world but left me in pieces,
So I picked up each fragment and rebuilt what you broke.


I apologise in advance for disappointing you, but I fear that I am not enough for you.
All that I am.

All that I am not.

And, I don’t know how to be more than this… especially at the moment.

What do I do?

Which road do I take?

When is the right time?

How do I do it?

I am unable to offer what I used to.

I am still selfless, but more selfish.

Most times I don’t listen to full sentences as my brain is weak and lacks in concentration, so forgive me if you have to repeat things.

I might need to hold onto you to walk, and some days I won’t be able to walk at all, but I will try every day for you. I will push myself until I fall.

The nausea will stop me from speaking some days, but on these days I will try to be a better listener.

I will put up a defence wall when I feel threatened, and I will let you win every argument because I don’t have the energy to spare on fighting you.

I fear that the progress I have made will never be enough, as I will never be the person I was before this.

Each day will forever remain a challenge, and I will forever be different to how you once remembered me.

I promise you, though, that I am trying to be more than this illness.

I am trying to be more, for you.

I relish in your energy, using it as a temporary bandaid for my symptoms.

I will brave each bad storm, in hope that when it passes, we can walk hand in hand through the puddles together, all of the way to our rainbow.

I want you to note my flaws, and accept them. Maybe in time I can remould them into something beautiful.

I want forehead kisses when the days are dull and my heart feels empty.

I want you to glide your tongue over every inch of my skin, reminding me that there is a warmer, softer feeling beyond chronic pain.

I want to be reminded of the world outside of this plague of disease.

I want you to love all of me, like I love all of you.


He lies beside me,
Heavy eyes,
Limbs tangled,
Hands entwined.

His voice murmurs,
Deep and delicious,
In between bouts of sleep haze,
I love you.

I whisper in return
Ever so softly,
the three words,
That keep us from breaking.

I love you.
I do not blink.
It is not to he whom I speak,
It is to the love tainting my mind.

He lies beside me,
Limbs tangled,
Hands entwined.
I am wishing it was you.


I don’t understand how forever turns into a faded memory.

How you can smile all day long but cry yourself to sleep at night.

How pictures never change, but the people in them do.

How people long for attention, but don’t want to be seen.

How you can let go of something you once said you couldn’t live without.

How you can have so many people in your life, yet feel so alone.

How you are here one second, gone the next.

How illness can weaken and strengthen you simultaneously.

How pain doesn’t have to be visible, to be real.

How family can abandon you, even though you are bound by blood.

How something can be equally bad, as it is good for you.

How you can forgive and forget, but never really forgive and forget.

How people can have a true love, but love more than one.

How the people who once wanted to spend every second with you, think a few minutes of their time is now too much to spare.

How people make promises, despite knowing how common it is for them to be broken.

How people can erase you from their lives just because it’s easier than working things out.

How people say they feel like they are dying, but have not experienced death.

How your best friend can become your worst enemy, and your worst enemy become your best friend.

How you look in the mirror and see a different reflection as to the one that really faces you.

I don’t understand.

Note: The original piece has been a favourite of mine for years, written by an unknown author. I edited, rewrote and put my own spin on it. But thank you to the talented anonymous author who created the shorter original piece.


What more do you want from me?
An arm, a leg?
Here, I might as well saw them off and give them to you because you have taken everything else from me.

You stole the glowing light from within me that made me shine with confidence.

You stole my heart, and pulverised it.

You stole my ability to feel; after you drowned me in feeling anything but you.

You stole my ability to trust through the compulsive lying and repetitive gambling.

You stole my kindness; ripped it from within me, threw it to the floor numerous times and watched it bleed dry.

You stole my thoughts; my mind is lost in memories and what if’s.

You stole my strength, and now I have succumb to this illness as being my defeator.

You stole my hope for the future, for romance, for change, for what once was.

You stole my pride, in myself and in you.

You stole my happiness, and now I fear I will be chained to this numbness forever.

You stole my ability to self-heal, and to have more strength as this illness destroys my body.

You stole my sunshine, and left me with a painted grey cloud of excuses.

You stole my time; I waited for you, I waited for you some more… the waiting was neverending.

You stole my generosity and overused it to your advantage because you knew you had me wrapped around your little finger.

You stole my ability to forgive and forget; because every time I believed you, you knived me in the back.

You stole my independence, as my life always revolved around you.

You stole my dreams; of having an honest relationship, a family, a future.

You stole my ability to love, or ever be loved again.

So, trust me when I say that giving you one of my limbs is nothing in comparison to what you have already taken from me.