Combat

Today, as we cleaned your house I thought of what I used to feel for an Irish lad with no future. Today, as we skirted around each other with mops and broomsticks and hovers I thought about how he shook my foundations with just one penetrating gaze: how he left me obsessed, crazy and in the end -- broken. Today, I felt far from it all, yet very close to what was then. I almost wished you would do something, anything that deflated me. I almost wished you were wrong and not so concerned about it. I wished for flaws and cracks and complexities that you don´t have. Because those are the men I seem to love the most. And, perhaps that is a flaw in me. Perhaps I need not look any further than myself for an answer as to what must lay ahead. Perhaps I don´t need what I want: one flute, one violin. In combat, always in combat.

Breabach – Baby Broon's