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.

Mr Blue

Your face is pale, tormented; it’s like your spirit has been stretched out over a large canvas and little care has been taken to protect your contours. Your voice is holding still, but I am surprised that it does; you look so weak, the lack of colour obvious (if you don’t count grey). You talk about the same stuff as usual, but even though your mouth moves, your eyes remain silent. I have not seen you smile since she left. You try, but the audience is abandoned with a contorted grin - the grief sipping through the edges.

 

I long for the morning, perhaps things will change then?

My Keeper of Truths

To be someone’s diamond, someone’s gem, the apple of someone’s eye – in a harsh world made of concrete and rock. How could I have been so lucky?

 

I miss your smile. I miss your touch, your relentless loyalty, your enigmatic, inspirational words and your soft caress. But more than anything I miss your eyes on me, making me feel like I am the golden girl with all the answers. (I have none.)

 

I love you to the end and back again; the world will go on because it must, but there is a hole in my heart that will remain until the end. There is no way to fill it as you move though time.

 

When I close my eyes I can just about see your contours, shiny and sparkly like a thousand stars; your red shoes, your blues and reds and lilacs and your dazzling smile promising me freedom. When I close my eyes I can feel my heart skip a beat at the sound of your voice, the touch of your hands on my pale skin - but it’s all just a dream.

 

I am wounded now (and you know it). I am hurting now (and you know it). I am lost and lonely now (the cut you left behind is so deep), tormented by the knowledge that my love can’t bring you back, not this time – you have moved beyond my grasp.

 

As the tears stream down my face I feel the relentlessness of my loss, the purity of emotion. I am left with one thought (and you planted it a long time ago).

 

Get to the other side!

 

I don’t know how I’ll do it yet, but I have the strength of your blood running through my veins, so I’ll get there.

 

All the while, I can feel your spirit echo through me.

 

I love you.

The Wanderer

You circle me relentlessly and I fail again to step away. I am a comet, moving really fast through space, always destined to crash and burn into you. When you left, I tried to walk it off, but I realised quickly that the world is not big enough, when you are moving through pain. 

 

I will never be what you want, yet we continue to play pretend…

The Abyss (love in the coronaverse)

I can still see you in that place with the high ceilings; grand, sparkling chandeliers swaying above our heads, shining smiles and beaming eyes over wine glasses and champagne flutes.

That place with the rooftop, where my grandpa used to work as a young man such a long time ago.

 

It’s almost as if time has given you two faces as the old merges with the new, yet we’ve remained the same despite our memories; at the bar, ordering G&T’s, your eyes are on me and I shiver in tempo with the beat.

 

Those nights in September, scented by a thousand unseen blooms and by too many piercing words leaving me with wounds that have still not fully healed.

 

Another Indian summer now and everything is different, but the air remains the same (it doesn’t care about our little human catastrophes).

 

As dusk falls, I watch you walk towards me with our drinks and I suddenly have an urge to run away because I didn’t think it would be like this, I didn’t think I would feel like this. I didn’t realise that time and space would merge under your hands and that I would have no option but to fall, helplessly, relentlessly - even though there was no ground beneath my feet.

 

Your rhythm is (as always) intoxicating.

 

You sit down and I marvel at the deep brown of your eyes and the broadness of your shoulders while I contemplate getting up, leaving, not turning back, ever. I know its fruitless. I know I am defenceless and when you open your mouth, I feel hollow and unprepared at your words. I jerk back in my chair - it’s not violent and you don’t notice, but my body keeps moving ever so slightly as if trying to find its equilibrium.

 

Then you speak of love and I am trying to make sense of your words but it’s hard, I always lost myself in you and now is no different than then.

 

I remember your salmon coloured shirt, your cowboy boots, your five o’clock shadow, but most of all I remember your eyelashes against your cheek when you slept next to me. They were the longest I had ever seen.  

 

As I take the first step, I know that I have no choice but to keep walking.

By the Waterfront

We met on midsummer night’s eve. We tried new places then; new drinks, new thoughts and as the contours of the night blurred, everywhere and everything merged into you. I walked home alone, as the fragrant night spiralled into a fiery dawn - the morning dew fresh underneath my feet, with the promise to take you to the beach, still echoing in the brittle light.

 

Do you remember?

I waited two weeks before I called you, and you still picked up on the first ring.

We walked through the park to get to where we were going. We may have stopped on the way; I don’t remember, but we made it just in time for dusk. You kissed me there for the first time by the water, and while the waves crashed I realised I was on fire under your hands. I remember my breath catching in my chest, my racing heart and white sand in my hair and on my skin - like a thin film of tiny silver beads reflecting in the cascading sunset.

Can you still see the ocean where you are?

 

Ruin me (if you dare)

"I miss you", she says as she takes a sip of her G&T.

Such a predictable drink, I have time to think to myself and then she reaches for my hand, but I flinch, causing her to do the same.

“Baby, those days are over, did you not see them pass?” My voice is soft, but relentless and I watch her shrink away further.

Her lipstick is red as usual, but there are deep shadows under her eyes these days and I wonder if it is hard for her to watch her own beauty slip away.

She used to be so vivid. She used to be so full of life and joie de vivre and I used to envy that she was the light, shining so bright in every room she entered. I would wake up to the squirrel wheel of everyday life, I would put on my hard hat and walk out the door and the image of her would keep me moving forward. The thought that this woman, in all her glory, had given me her heart so completely was intoxicating to me.

She is still a beauty. Capturing as many glances as ever, but her allure is fading in her own eyes and that makes all the difference.  

“Don’t you have anything to say to me?” She takes a sip of her drink and I can tell she is doing it out of nervousness, just to have something to do.

I have her in the palm of my hand, I could crush her with a slight movement of one finger and it is an exhilarating feeling.

I look at her, really look at her for the first time tonight. “Do you remember that time when we climbed that gate together?”

A smile lights up her face. “Yes, I do.”

It is clear from her expression that the moment was just as paramount to her as it was to me. She is pensive, waiting for what is next to come. The smile still lingers in her eyes and I decide to crush it because it simpler.

“I think that was the moment when I realised I didn't love you.”

She trembles and her face falls for a second. Then she surprises me and I suddenly remember why I did love her (and also why I just lied about it).

“Fine, but let’s order one more bottle before we go.”

When you leave

I watch your back move away from me and I try to follow, but it is like I am trying to shake myself from one of those nightmares when you are always on the verge of waking up; the air is heavy to breathe and my feet won’t move forward as I watch you disappear into the hazy distance.

I don’t know if it is better to stay right here or to wake up and find myself alone.

Ta!

We are living in the age of a pandemic, but the air is still warm in July

Things are tough, but the sun is out today reminding me that I am human

The outline of the city is the same and the gin is smooth, as is this summer eve in the heart of east London.

I am thinking about you. Wondering how you are? (Just like me, patience never was your virtue.) And if your face is warmed by the sun tonight.

I was told to be quiet and kind, but I failed.

I was told to watch my words and to keep a straight face, but I failed.

I was told I was too much, too soon in all kinds of ways, but you never agreed.

It’s July and I stare at your words as I move through requests for financial resilience and collection fund accounting and I think to myself that I did something right even though I never succumbed to the expected.