Writer | Editor


Photo by Emily Ibarra

Love Letters To No One

Scenes of you play behind my eyelids every night.

Memories sharp enough to cut through the banalities of my day, drive me to distraction,

They envelop me as I pointlessly tread water against time.

I remember you.

I remember your kiss; how I shut my eyes so tightly, and I’d feel your lips against mine, and your arms around me, and how time moved faster and slower all at once.

I fell into those moments, fell into you.

At night we owned the streets in that sleepy town.

Stomping and yelling with abandon, we invented lives for each person that passed, laughing carelessly into the night and pushing back against the changing sky.

Leaning into the passage of time, I felt safe in the reflection of my eyes in yours.

I laid my head on your chest and listened to your heartbeat and your slow, steady breaths.

You told me about that night when you had a clear view of the stars, and how you wanted a place to call your own.

I told you about my fear of heights and how I’d felt when I saw you for the first time.

In the dark we pressed our smiles together.

You whispered about the secret lives of large-beaked birds, and the unavoidable inefficiencies of burning bridges to stay warm.

In the soft glow of candlelight the edges of my boundaries blurred, and all those walls I’d so carefully built simply fell away.

You pushed past the warning signs I’d laid out just for you;

“NO TRESPASSING” “KEEP OUT” VIOLATORS WILL BE SHOT,” did the wet paint even slow you down?

Not even close.

Watching our shadows loom large on the walls, we howled like wolves and fought the morning off as it tried to creep in uninvited.

I did my best to block your path, but you turned my mind and heart on their ends and shook the dust and cobwebs from their dark corners.

Windows shuttered and boarded up, I’d long written those tiny spaces off as dead and wasted, buried beneath the embrace of a life spent doing as I’m told.

Buried under an unwelcome loop of my mistakes and those sharp words repeated into the night for longer than I should have allowed.

My sweet. You are the place I stand when my feet are sore.

Thank you.

Arielle Mullen