Feel Me Don't You
Making the connections
Making the connections



He sat in his favorite chair located by the bay window. Winter’s spider webs crept from the corners of the window panes. With the top of his pen wedged between his lips, he stared at all the crumpled paper now dotting his floor. There was just so much to say. So much had gone unsaid. For years. Unsaid. Self-expression never came easy. When it did come, it was fraught with nervous stammering, awkward glances, and feet shuffling. He couldn’t afford an extravagant present, so he purchased a small token – something he noticed that lit up her face. He would also open himself up to her. Finally. A thought struck him and he began writing.

My dear Ciara,

I recall a conversation, maybe recently, maybe a lifetime ago, but you made it clear you loved anything with a personal touch. I hope this letter, poor handwriting and all, brings a smile to your lips.

Here we are once more, up to our necks in troubled times. We never go searching for it, yet somehow it just finds us. Sure, we could simply hide away. Maybe we dream of the one we’d like to see at the end of the day. That’s never been us. We’ve faced our darkness head on. You were there for me when the drunk driver stole my parents away from me. I was there when you lost your baby and he, who we will never call by name, left you with no warning or farewell. We’ve seen each other’s ugliest faces and still traded the warmest smiles soon after. I must admit something. It’s silly that it has eluded me all these years.

You give me strength. The solitary winter, it chills me no more. You warm my heart. When I dream, it always features an angel by the western seashore. Ciara, it’s you. Ciara, you’re the angel I would like to know. Before you muss my hair, push my face away, and say we already know each other, I want to be clear. I want knowledge from the deepest well. I want to sing your name as I fall asleep. I want to dream your face lying on my pillow. When I awake, I want to realize it’s not a dream. I want to kiss you one day in the cool of St. Brigid’s well. In that moment, I wish all our troubles would fall away with each heart beat, crystal clear like a church bell.

Ciara, I can hear Winter knocking on my door. It’s rattling the window panes. It’s frozen breath threatening to steal life. But you’re my Spring. You banish the cold. You’re that angel by the western seashore.

I love you,


Inspired by Luka Bloom – Ciara

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