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.

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.

Have you been to Paris?

Cheers,

Life is ok, despite everything. You are not here, but it’s OK, despite everything. Things will be different soon - we will be drinking Guinness and Gin and tonic and it will be like time has not passed at all. We will be in London, we will be in Malmö and we will inhibit the world. We will have date night and we will learn as we lean into it, as we go, because we never knew how to do it before. We will play it by ear, because in the end that is what this life is all about – adapting to notes and a melody that you are not used to.

I’ve got a new dress for the occasion – it’s blue and I know you will like it.

This life. Munich, Shenzhen, HongKong, London, Paris – all encapsulated by emotions, huddled up in colours. How can I combine all these emotions in one go? How can I show all this love?

I guess there will always be Paris. There will always be that woman in black with the silver cigarette holder. There will always be you and me, but this time we will be on point...

Strawberry Gin

You shield your eyes, your breath is compromised, strained, too fast; this is the time of Corona. Like thoughts in my mind, your breath is here but not, so we both keep chasing on and I wake every morning, in this crowded room with too many things that are not mine and I smell my impertinence in the air as I throw the sheets away from my pale, naked frame.

I want to walk with you, wordlessly through winding streets, through all the years of words not spoken, leaving us free of a past that has chained us down for too long.  

In my mind there has always been a desk near a window where I look out and see a moor explode in a cascade of colours. I watch you moving across the wild, while I put my pen to paper; your breath alive (unlike now) and we are far away from this city, far away from these days of strawberry gin and basic survival.

These are the days of Corona and I keep silent, but my heart still beats next to yours…