clinging to the wreckage

There is a silent sadness in your eyes that defies your smile and reveals more to me than the family photo ever could or should. It’s been too long and there is no longer a spark of desire or love or true happiness. I sense unfulfilled longing and desire. There is repression. There is the blankness of sterile acceptance. The fate of so many… that bland acceptance that saps us of life and vigour and hope. And yet so many prefer it to a short stab of pain followed by freedom. So many fear that freedom because it means that they don’t have a perpetual partner to listen to their every thought and ensure that the appearance of ‘normality’ is retained. The fear of the unknown and of being alone is greater than the desire to escape a life of grey emptiness.

There is so much I want to say.  I feel your presence and I ache… I long… I pine.  There is little respite.  I long for a quieter time  I long for your touch  I long for your smile.  I see you online, I see you… I see you.  There is music, there is wine… there is something that I cannot define.  There is no point… there is no hope… there is…

The first days are sad and sombre. I am lost. Forever lost. Drowning in anxiety. And yet there is always you. You disappear on the weekends and I long for your tenderness. I think of your gentle voice and your soft smile. You are all that is calm. You are a lesson in tranquillity. There is no one like you. It is wonderful to continue where we left off and yet things have changed so much. Your situation has changed. Slowly you swell with new life. A life that reminds me you do not need or want or think of me. A life that tells me you are happy and content. You know how much I love you but there is nothing that can be done.

During the build up to departure everyone expresses deep regret and sadness that you are leaving. Morbidly they tell you how much you will be missed and how desperate they are to say farewell over drinks or dinner. But the final days arrive and no one is anywhere to be seen. The ones whom you really love are silent and distant. Some romantic stirring deep within tries to convince you that they are staying away to protect themselves from the final goodbye but the logic of your mind reminds you that it is simply because they have better things to do and that the hope springing from your loneliness is meaningless against the brutal grind of daily reality. Survival destroys hope... and mundane existence destroys all that is beautiful and poetic.

I wrote you a letter that I could not give to you. Another letter to add to the pile as I watch you walk away for the last time. Tears in eyes surprise us both and I realise what it is that I am losing. Perhaps you do too but I can’t be certain of that. When I returned to England all those years ago I dreamt of finding the likes of you… and when I did I couldn’t hold on. Now I am walking away but there was nothing I could do, you had made your decision on that day so many years ago and I was not the one.

It was with trepidation that I picked up Morrissey’s Autobiography . I feared that it might be excessively petulant or perhaps, dare I even say it, poorly written. However, as it turns out, the book is a wonderful work of art with a fine poetic prose throughout punctuated with Morrissey’s customary turn of phrase in which he inverts the expected and surprises us in the most delightful of ways. The tale weaves us through a wide variety of emotions and through the use of the present tense we are forced to feel every one of them along the way with Morrissey.  This book made me grateful to have recently become a train commuter because the 45 minutes of travel each morning and again each evening gave me the time to devour the pages. I found myself sitting at work and counting down the moments to that point at which I would once more be able to open the book and lose myself in the life of Morrissey. A wonderful read containing some valuable life lessons. ‘I can see through

I know no one reads this blog… and I am probably grateful of that fact. It is despairing mostly… possibly bordering on pathetic in the way I cling to or long for those who no longer care about me (or never have). And I know that the story is old but (yes, you guessed it) it must go on. I worry about you. I worry that the cruel blows life sometimes inflicts may be affecting you deeply and that you simply suffer on in silence. Your beautiful and gentle self rocked within. It saddens me to see someone so kind and gentle suffering. I also know that I offer you little other than disturbance and therefore I have backed away to leave you in peace… but I am here… and I care more than you could know.