Letter to my lovers.



Its been a year since I lay beside you and pulled my fingers through your hair, that most primitive of gestures. It had the effect of turning your locks into the mane of a lion, the Leo Sayer look which alas, was no longer the fashion.

I question myself. What could I have done to stop you leaving? Could I have been kinder, more understanding, more giving? I know now, looking back I didn’t have any more to give, that these probably were the wrong questions to ask, at least they are questions in which I would never find answers.

For months I rejected what was happening was in fact happening. That was followed by attempts to replace and fill the hole that was left when you were gone. Half a year on, there were months of being so incredibly and absolutely alone. Empty beaches which in the past I had found so much joy and power I now found emptier than ever. The vast beauty of the world is only perceived as such when you are able to express it as being and without anyone to express it to, it becomes just vast.

I tried to jump ship, to move to the mountains, holed up like a hermit who could on a quest find himself. Probably lucky for me the mountains wouldn’t have me.
I literally tried to jump ship and was all set to arrive in Zanzibar knowing nothing more than that was where Freddie Mercury was born. But alas the boat broke in half and those islands probably were not where I was destined to be. I even applied for Antarctica, but my girth stopped that application before the snowshoes hit the tracks. It seems running away would not stop the cold when the cold I could feel was coming from the inside.

Words came and went as did my efforts to replace what was lost. In words I found myself not reborn but definitely able to start again, rebuilding after the storm, but with the shutters still up. 

One year on. Wiser, who knows? Sad still? Maybe at different times. 10 years is a life chunk not just a slice easily forgotten or discarded. With winter starting literally, it is strange that I feel I am at last able to throw off the blanket of sadness and face the cold breeze for what it is for I have found a new friend.

Confidence, the trickster, the coyote is at my heels, more often running in front of me and leading the way. She takes me to the precipice and leaves me there. Without her, my pen cannot ride with the paper, thoughts that spring from lonely beaches cannot find a home. Don’t leave now coyote, I have no wish for my words to be lost alone in the coldest of seas. I know you trickster for what you are. You will not always be there. You are a dog and have a will of your own.

I only wish my friend I could run my hands through your long locks of hair,
for alas I have none.  

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