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Tag Archives: love

Tying up the loose ends
Like a video game
When you’ve completed the main quest
And there’s nothing more to do
But wait for the next adventure.
The fond farewells of characters
Who’ve made this tapestry sparkle.
The relief of cutting off from people
Who hold you down and push you back.
The creaking of zips, straining against luggage.
Everything you need to survive contained in two suitcases.
And a backpack.
But there are some things that just can’t be squeezed into hand luggage.
The people you love the most for example.
It’s a choice you have to make:
Adventure, or love.
Fortunately, you can settle for both;
They will still be there when you return.
Or so you keep telling yourself.
In the meantime, you make do with the pixels on screen,
And the mechanical voices that claim to be your family.
And try to find a surrogate family to see you through the absence.


A million thoughts
Buzzing like wasps around a nest.
When is that report due?
What did she mean when she sent that email?
I wonder if dad has remembered that it’s the green bins that are taken today?
Hairline seems to be receding more…
I wonder if she’ll go out for a drink with me.
Should just ask her…
Did I remember to feed the cat?
Did I lock the door?
What if she says no?
What if she says yes and then doesn’t turn up?
The screeching of brakes,
The acrid smell of burning rubber.
The sickening crunch of metal and glass.
Behind you,
In your rearview mirror,
You see the wreck
That you missed
By seconds.
You stop.
Call an ambulance.
Call the police.
You watch as stretchers are carried off.
You listen as police make phonecalls.
You observe from the outside
As lives are changed forever.
And in that moment,
All the petty worries,
The trivial griping,
The destructive comments…
They all melt away.
Replaced by a sudden urge
To quit your job.
To go to your father’s house
And take him out for the day.
Remind him how much you love him.
To ask that woman out on a date.
And hey, let’s be crazy…
Losing your hair?
Shave it off, and shine with pride,
Knowing that yours can be,
No, must be,
A life well-lived.

He slumps in the plump, winged armchair
Of his expensively furnished study,
In his enormous, princely palace,
With a healthy measure of the finest Scotch
That money can buy,
And he weeps.
The man who everyone believes has it all
For the one thing he cannot have.
The girl.
The sweet, innocent, pretty young thing,
With a smile like sunshine
And a heart of gold finer than any that a jeweler could supply.
This beautiful rose
Who married for love,
Not wealth, or convenience.
And who,
For the time being,
Is sheltered, protected,
In a warm cocoon
Of pure, perfect, unconditional, and reciprocated adoration.
What her husband lacks in money
He more than makes up for with time.
Endless thoughtful gestures.
A hand to hold when seas are rough.
Someone to laugh with in the summertime.
A man to grow old with.
And that is why the rich man weeps.
Because he is all too aware
That the flashiest car available cannot transport him
To where he yearns to be.
In her arms.
That all the powerful allies
Cannot change the feelings of a woman’s heart.
That the largest of mansions
Are cold and hollow
Without a lover to share them.
But worst of all, he knows
That all the money in the world
Cannot buy her love.
And while she will die,
Surrounded by those she holds dear,
With a smile on her face,
He will die cold and alone,
Wishing that he could make his choice again
Between wealth and success.
As he wipes the last traces of Scotch from his lips,
A painful epiphany reveals itself:
Happiness,  success, and wealth
Are not always synonymous.
And that is why the rich man weeps.

Don’t love.
Because the sad, inevitable truth
Is this:
Be it through wars,
Or tears,
Or even death,
Eventually, the flames that keep you warm
When the world is bitterly cold
Will burn out.
Sometimes they take many years to slowly die down.
In other cases,
They are snuffed out, suffocated,
In an instant.
The pain, though purely in your mind,
Will be more excruciating
Than anything you could ever put your body through.
Someone told me that time was the greatest healer.
They lied.
Time does not heal.
Time merely allows you to grow accustomed to agony,
To accept it as part of your daily routine.
Wake up, ache.
Shower, sting.
Breakfast, with added burn, naturally.
New lovers may take that place,
A warm, comforting bandage over a gaping wound.
But they will only ever be a bandage.
Some wounds simply refuse to heal.
Protect yourself.
Don’t love.

She admires the shiny red shoes with the heel,
The kind her mother would have only dreamed of
And her father would have scoffed at.
“Who are you trying to fool?
You’re a carpenter’s daughter, nothing more.”
But today, she is more than that.
Her hair, freshly washed,
Tied up in a smooth bun.
The dress, freshly pressed,
The labels newly removed.
Wages were saved for many moons
Just for this occasion.
She’d saved before knowing if he’d ask her to dance.
But her hope allowed her to control her own fate.
Tonight, she is more than a carpenter’s daughter…
She is the one he chose.
The girl he fell in love with on sight,
Watching her type in the office.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Today the only clacking comes from the shoes she wears
As she walks towards the man
Who will make her more than her father ever believed she could be.

Wrinkled hands reach for a sepia photograph
The same story is told again
To this stranger who has come to introduce herself.
The tale of a life, creating life,
Which, in turn created new life.
And there the story ends,
With a granddaughter,
Ten years old.
The stranger that was there throughout,
Unbeknownst to you
Who sits in the chair beside you,
Twenty years old,
Listening to your tales
Like an old familiar record.
There are silent tears in the eyes of this stranger
And as you smile happily at your brand new friend,
You cannot understand why.
“It was lovely to meet you my dear,
You really must visit again soon…”

Fear breeds hatred.
That is the truth of it.
A human reaction,
But one that makes us weak.
How can evil be silenced
If no one has courage to speak?
How can we open our hearts
When we shut ourselves off with barriers?
How can we love
With hearts filled with hate?
When blame is showered down
Like acid rain,
It is not just the guilty that are burned,
But those who were standing
In the wrong place
At the wrong time.
Stand tall,
Stay strong,
Always love.

The public place,
Your jigsaw face,
The tears you try to hide.
The callous stares
From perfect pairs
Of eyes that harshly spied.
I wish they see
What I can see
When my eyes meet your face,
The girl with smiles
That stretch for miles
Who married me in lace.
The girl who sings
Of happy things
Who did until the crash.
When all we knew
Was flashing blue,
And nothing more than ash.
But still I stand,
I take your hand,
We break free from those bars
I’ll never go
Or sink so low
I love you and your scars.

To love another completely is a dangerous act.
But a beautiful one.
In handing over the keys to your heart,
In whatever form they may take,
You give that other soul a dark power.
It is the power
To unravel,
To destroy,
To crush,
To burn,
To annihilate,
To simply end.
But in doing so,
You put your complete trust in them,
In the vain hope
That they will resist the temptation to do so.

The eyes of a lover.
The bark upon which initials and promises are carved.
Your first car.
The leaves that change when the Earth turns sour.
The hair of the girl he left you for.