Darling

It’s a south London thing now; and I am feeling so delicate, so fragile - wondering if you will go all in this time. (It is your style, to be honest.)

These days, if I ask you to close your eyes will you trust me?

 

Will your feet move forward, trailing my steps; not fast, but steadfast still?

 

Things have changed since that winter night when you forced me to my knees amongst crystalised icicles; my bag sliding across the mirrored surface as I tried to get across it. After all this time I still remember waking up with a start in the middle of the night - my heart in my throat, fumbling for my phone, seeing her image and knowing that everything had been altered.

 

You walked away regardless, or perhaps because and you took my streets with you; making me a stranger in my own city, relentlessly searching in the ruins for what had been lost.

 

Will you face what you destroyed, despite the world being on fire and the stars aligning?

 

Room 147

The waiter fusses around us – your eyes are on me as I try to eat my melon without shaking. A profound moment, but so unexpected. I have known you for 30 minutes, yet I watch as a lifetime passes in-between the seconds. We’re in a posh hotel somewhere near Cologne and everything has changed.

 

I watch you move towards the bar; your step quick and lithe - your white shirt glimmering in the dim evening light. I have time to wonder at the swiftness of it all. I have time to ponder your piercing blue eyes before you are back; gin and tonic in hand and I lose myself in the familiar taste - cheeks flushed, lips rosy. As you lean back in your chair my head swirls with your movements.

 

Later, walking through the softly lit, marbled reception area towards your room. You’re a wanderer just like me. Never settling, always moving on. But even wanderers need some sort of stability and you’re not going to find it in me. Yet, my feet move towards you in that room, so crowded by your mind; your presence spilling out like water over all my edges and cracks.

 

You don’t touch me, instead you touch the inner corners of my mind. It’s like you know that you have to go there first to keep me, just like I do.

 

Our words dance between us, too personal, too intimate for the setting. We are seeing clients tomorrow and I know this is not suitable, but I can’t stop, and neither can you. It’s like we are trapped in an unexpected dream and neither one of us can decipher if it is a good one yet. Will this look different in hindsight? When you leave, will these memories linger?

 

The morning after is bleak. I am dressed to a tee and last night rests heavy on both of us – change can do just that. Your face is pale, your features serious and hard-set. I remind myself we were just playing pretend, but I convince no one. We start moving towards your BMW, my bag uncomfortably bouncing between us. Your body is too close to me once we sit down, and I feel like the air is being pushed out of my lungs as I try to make conversation, ensuring that we don’t acknowledge just how deep the impact of last night was. Then you turn to look at me and I feel naked and defenceless under your gaze.

 

As we start to move forward, I realise there is no going back this time.

Phoenix

It’s the same city as before, but something has been altered beyond recognition. The change is relentless, and she can’t move across it, the boundaries so severe that they have formed black scars in the asphalt and as she walks; she has to tread carefully to not trip over the sharp edges. She thinks of the champagne bottle at home; she bought it as a celebration of something new and improved but the lights have gone out and there is little joy in this place anymore. These are the streets where her heart broke so many moons ago in a chilly, cold winter night. It’s summer now but she still shivers.

 

The man with the golden spurs stands at the corner. She can see his outline in the distance, and she knows he takes no prisoners. He shines with a golden glow and sparkles shoot out from his pointed cowboy boots. He stands there, like so many times before but his eyes, green, with a hint of gold, are softer as she approaches.

 

“Do you want me to save you?”, he says almost teasingly.

 

They stand in silence as she ponders her response. The ground begins to move again, cracking beneath her feet – widening the distance between them into an ever-expanding crater. The noise in its wake, just a faint glimmer at first, growing into a deafening roar.

 

“A penny for your thoughts”, he yells across the rumbling void as the swaying ground keeps moving her further away from him - faster and faster it goes, and her head is spinning with the speed. Her heart beats violently; she tries to say something, anything, but her voice is lost in the moment and even though the will is there no sound comes out.

 

He is just a dot against the horizon now, gleaming, and shiny still but faint. She watches his outline trying to move away from the edge but the asphalt has a mind of its own and bit by bit it moves in on him, eating away at the ledge he is standing on. She can sense his panic rather than see it as his foothold finally crumbles in a cloud of dust, golden spurs and sparkles disappearing in a sea of light. 

 

She is alone as the ground stops shaking – the silence surprising after so much noise, and just like that it is over. Just like that the world is a different place and as the asphalt slowly starts to merge again, she gently touches her left cheek (to make sure she is still there); her heartbeat still, her gaze unclouded - then she turns her back to what was and walks away.  

Light

The light bounces off the white windowsills. 

 

She watches it dart across the park, encompassing the leafy greenness in a soft glow, landing gently on her pale skin as she sips her black coffee on the balcony. 

 

Important things have always happened here. 

 

For an eternity this has been a place of refuge, a place to call home, this very spot. And he is here, the one who holds her heart so firmly and without protest. A dark clad figure that in so many ways remain the centre of her world; bringing her to her knees and elevating her at the same time. An unconditional love, the purest she has ever known, reminding her that there is life despite grief, despite sorrow, despite loss and that beauty remains even in a world that has been tainted beyond repair. 

 

They sit in silence, embracing the golden morning side by side. For a moment forgetting about the minutia, the trivia of life; the only focus being that soft bouncing light and the sunbeam, caressing their separate thoughts that need no words spoken.

Jag lovar

Det är vår.

 

Jag fick inte dela den med dig, men du är fortfarande här i mina hjärtslag.  

 

Din trädgård prunkar i sprakande färg och snart finns det än en gång liv innanför husets väggar. Det är ett annat liv än det ditt, men ändå på många sätt detsamma. Två familjer; öden som svetsats samman oåterkalleligt, i en annan tid än den som var din, men med samma glädje att dela och ge någon det allra vackraste. 

 

Jag vet inte var du är nu. Jag vet inte om du lyssnar, men jag vet att jag känner din ande i mig och att du manar mitt hjärta att ta hand om dem som är kvar.

Kärlek

Det är tystnaden jag kommer att minnas mest tror jag. Öronbedövande och fullständig. Inte bara när jag sätter i nyckeln i låset och öppnar den tunga dörren, utan som alltid närvarande i varje handling, i varje andetag. 

 

Ditt hjärta har tystnat nu. Du är i ro. Jag kan känna dig genom tiden och du besöker mig i mina drömmar, men när jag vaknar möts jag av en vägg av tystnad och känslan av att allt stått still. Jag kan fortfarande se den vita kistan som om det var i går. De sammanbitna ansiktena och mina egna darrande händer när jag vek upp det vita pappersarket för att dela med mig av min kärlek till dig. För jag speglade mig alltid i dig, men jag tror du speglade dig i mig också. 

 

"Vi var en", sa jag till någon viktig när han hörde av sig just efter att jag förlorat dig. 

 

Sanningen är; ditt hjärta är inte tyst, det slår fortfarande i mig och jag hör dina andetag i min egen bröstkorg. Du finns i mitt silke, mina vackraste klänningar och mina röda skor. Du finns i blommorna på ängen och i den lena katten som stryker sig mot mitt ben i skymningen. Din kärlek fyller mig och när jag lyfter blicken mot vårsolen så kan jag känna dig i varje grässtrå, i varje fågeldrill, i vinden som lätt som en smekning sveper över backen.  

This Woman's Work

I miss her

 

I know, dear

But we need to keep walking

There are greater plans for you

 

 

Her

Life pans inwards these days, aiming straight for my heart. It’s broken but it still beats. Yours is silent and it chokes my spirit. I want to break everything that makes noise. I want to trash everything that has a voice. I want to supress everything into silence and stillness. I want the world to stop for just a spell so I can catch my breath. 

 

But most of all, I want one second, just one second, when I can hold your hand in mine in order to let go.

Evigheten i mars

Vi packar ihop ditt hus.

 

Det är som om varje sak jag rör vid har ett alldeles eget hjärta som slår bredvid mitt.

 

Jag varvar vackert glas med tidningspapper och lägger försiktigt ner i den bruna lådan. Jag tänker att jag ska flytta hem till vattnet en dag, och de ska få komma till ro i ännu ett älskat hem.

 

Men det hjälper inte.

 

Allting går sönder nu, som om du var limmet som höll ihop skarvarna. För det skarvade alltid, men när jag såg in i dina ögon visste jag att jag var tvungen att göra allt jag inte trodde jag kunde, för din skull.

 

Tomheten breder ut sig, men trots det får jag inte plats någonstans.

 

Jag sätter nyckeln i låset, så fruktansvärt varse att det inte blir så många gånger till, så fruktansvärt varse att ingenting är detsamma och att det jag en gång tog för givet inte finns mer, utom i mitt minne.

 

Jag är så rädd att du ska blekna. Jag är så rädd att tiden kommer att sudda ut dig och jag håller desperat fast vid smärtan som är skarp och skärande, men den är verklig och dina konturer förblir fasta.

 

Dagarna flyter in i varandra och du är alltid här trots att det var många dagar sedan du tog ditt sista andetag. Ibland sträcker jag ut handen för att klappa en katt, men det är tomt och jag griper i luften. Ibland hör jag din röst så klart och tittar upp från packlådan, men du är inte där.

 

Jag saknar dig varje sekund.

1923

Din kasse står fortfarande vid dörren. Så länge jag inte packar upp den kan jag fortsätta att hålla din mjuka hand i min lite till. 

 

Det är samma värld, men ändå inte. Det är samma rum, men för alltid förändrat. Jag är samma människa, men det finns ingen hud mellan mig och saknaden, och ingen väg ut. 

 

Dörren är låst från insidan och du tog nyckeln med dig när du gick.  

 

Jag är inte redo.