unfinished imperfect…

Clouds bloom across the night like the mould of a tea cup,
The road roars quietly and I sit trying to find you in my heart.
You are leaving, and of course you have already left.
I feel your pull on me slacken, your days no longer tug at mine,
Your eyes, smiles, hands no longer punctuate my hours and stop up my moments.
I wonder if our bond is broken – if it was ever there at all,
Then the tears come like dawn sweepers and take the thought away.

I have no right to write and my conscience worries at this violation,
But I can’t seem to be fair when the city murmurs your name, mourning this loss.
London’s darkness deepens, pouring blue on blue in a tribute to the thickening night.
In shadows and shades hurt and guilt bicker and brawl like angry winds,
Scowling at the future and pushing love back past the summer’s chilly rind.
In this mirror world there are uncrossable chasms, precipices, falls,
But we’ve both walked this country before and the landscape’s always familiar.

Our season seemed to last ever-long, though it ended before we named it.
I felt I knew you. I hold that with blazing days and laughing nights.
I wanted to write that happiness back into existence on this page,
But the words are all jumbled up with tears and I’ve lost my faith in grammar.
I puzzle at it in my mind, reshuffle the pieces to try and find another brighter picture,
You were as much to me as blueberry muffins, as Buffy, as sunshine,
And I hope your absent presence will echo me into the missing forever.

If all is lost I have memories mothballed for a rainy day,
Drizzling somewhere beyond this ending.
I wish you space, oceans, the shimmering edge of a crisp cup of sky,
And a room with the doors thrown open to the wind.


In my efforts to fund the upcoming adventure, I’ve been rummaging through my old boxes looking for things I can sell, forgotten bank notes I can exchange and hidden buried treasures.. Instead I came across these words written to a man whose name I haven’t said in a decade.

In this time when everything is changing and in flux, it was reassuring to hear my own still voice speaking to me from years back, to know I was, I am, still myself. Reading the words I remember the night when I wrote them. The sentiment feels very familiar – the need to fully value, fully feel even as something wonderful passes away.

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5 Responses to unfinished imperfect…

  1. I see you always used words in beautiful ways! Very moving, and very evocative x

  2. You are a thoughtful wordsmith. Perhaps that helps us “fully value, fully feel”, so that things never fully pass away.

  3. psychevida says:

    Touched with tenderness and love… Thank you for such generosity.

  4. The T says:

    you’re simply lovely…there’s no way to describe you better than sublime bliss to my thoughts when I read your words…


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