I – Late June
Messages in my sleep, and sunlight through partially drawn curtains. The hum of traffic from the busy street deeply disturbs the senses, fumes and airless warmth on tingling skin. There is no cold side of the pillow in this month; June is baked in the air and all over our skin. In these early mornings and adventure dreams, tired eyes squint.
There is a face etched in misery and confusion, well in need of some distraction. It is funny how we can instinctively recognise the good souls from their reaction to pain. I recognise the monsters and know their nasty little games. If the ghosts and ghouls manage to creep in to the internal organs, it can take a life time to sellotape yourself back together. Sometimes, if you manage it, the sellotape depreciates. Once a heart has been broken, a million hopes have been dashed; you’ll always be a little more monochrome than you were before. I know this, and can relate to the disparate and empty misfortune of being on the outside looking in, on what was once home, burning.
Tea in bowls, in the morning light, and an overwhelming desire to make it seem better than it is for him, for retrospective thinking is nothing more than the past. Distractions are all we need until the stomach flips in remembrance. In moments like this we have all tried to numb, fall off the rails. Surely the path of excess does not lead to the palace of wisdom, for being caned tends to ask more questions than it is capable of answering. Full of heart for the weary one, we have all been there or we will one day, the beauty is, this factor will render judgement obsolete one day. Talk away, the monsters have to die if they are confronted, if you spook the threat in a dream you’ll never be threatened again. I attempt to philosophise the situation, clearly, it’s all subjective…
Time is the only element of existence which will reduce the importance of a knife in the back. Vital organs will continue to beat onwards, (if somewhat begrudgingly) and one day you’ll realise it’s the best thing that ever happened to you, because it was what was meant to happen to you all along. His smile resurfaces; it’s glorious, framed by Saturday sun. The kindness of a smile in the eyes can bring hope to the fallen; ultimately the blessing of honesty is the rarest treasure in these desolate times. There is a constant quest for peace of mind. You rarely meet people emotionally kind and aware regardless of personal grief and affliction. For this reason and many countless others, I should be most grateful.
Words of comfort seep without judgement, providing (if nothing more than momentary anaesthetic) a point of relativity. The hounded expression forgets for an hour or two, my work as a human being is worthwhile, kindness is a gift every person deserves. To retain kindness is to deny oneself as well as those in need. He sits and fidgets.
Such cruelty for such a good person, in this bad luck and injury; it is such a terrible shame that none of us can exist without knowing and becoming it. So, until time dusts away the cobwebs it’ll be tea, distraction and comfort in the kindness of strangers. I’m not a ghost at the feast or encouraging of idle gossip, merely a spectator. Dry your eyes; they’re not worth a frown.
II – Early July
Adoration should never be considered a crime, but these are fractured times.
Sitting in the kitchen draped in July, wild flowers and weeds scattered amongst pencil shavings on the table top. Glass chested and weary eyed self pitying and suddenly heartsick. Little burns under the breastbone, the shiver of glass around the tummy, circulatory and (very) nervous system.
Such a darling! Such a interesting story,with such honesty, modesty, I am blessed in the company. Open eyes and heavy sighs, every time. Daydreams and imaginings, on the bus journey and walking in the street. This one is secret. I’ll never tell. Daydreams ease the nights screams which taunt me with images of heart and the blissfully intimate, self-effacing syndicate surround every thought. Looming wakefulness etched in the deep unconscious. The white kitchen walls echo my words as I sing along. Reflections in the windows frown, empty eyed and lost.
III – Mid July
We’re all just molecules and cells bouncing along, planned and random in consequentiality; inexplicably and predictably tied together in time and space, sound and vision. We’re caught in the unconscious, and then thrust in to consciousness, introspection and extroversion, a million different things at once.
Defence mechanisms locked the doors, a few remained ajar, in hopes and dreams.
I would amble quietly, becoming invisible in the street. My wide eyes peering over the shoulders of others, peering in through the open curtains of my neighbours at night time. I became an ordinary Amelie, caught in monotonous, monstrous 2D.
Up in my lonely room, dreaming of you….
…sewing patchwork hopes in to the seams of my day to day scenes. I’d prattle on errands, keeping busy to discourage the tears of screaming lonely innards. Love was a concept I’d forgotten to know, yet I’d plant seeds to grow, where ever I’d go. I’d turn to ice, nattering in the company of men, they would come and go leaving me cold. Never feeling right and never feeling real will steal the clarity from the eyes. I’d search blindly and make a decision to flee after minimal revision knowing the knowing would come from my good heart.
The creature next to me jumps in his sleep, occasionally instinctively taking my hand and squeezing it tenderly before falling limp. Shaking in dreams before waking, to smile in to me with all the grace of a good angel. He is fine art to the blind and poetry beyond description and intonation. I thank the heavens, though there is nothing there for me. The fortunate tingle under my skin sinks in to my bones without second thought, enraging all previous notions and devotions to tragedy (which remain to be nothing more than a distant memory).
Masochistic longing excites my senses as it churns in my stomach, the missing half is never really out of reach. He is here more than ever when he is away from me, my lost limbed limp leaves me in a 2D vision of normality. There is a blessed contentment and comfort to know that I am with him wherever he may go, I’ve never been brave enough to know. He is a bird on a wire which I’m fortunate enough to follow. Monsters are sung to seep in the gentility of melody and music pours in euphoria from every corner of my better nature. I’m living in the lucid reality of a dream which I’ve always imagined but never worn. I wished quietly, courteous and polite, I screamed silently in broken isolation, locked in a corner gathering dust. Soot covered and cobwebbed insides held together by tape and blue tack, encouraged gently, fixed by his goodness. I thank my lucky stars.
Held tightly for longer than I’ve ever known, faces held in kisses and sweat drenched shaking and screaming in the lounge. We were acknowledged by fate and thrown together, two bright hearts fused by friendship, dizzy on chemistry and affirmed by love.
Now 