Grey December mornings and it is just how I’m feeling.
The bed is empty and my nights are restless, I’m all alone but it’s almost like the blues.
I can hear the patter of the rain gentle against the thin glass, I can hear the low growl of the hungry wolf haunting my dreams. I can almost feel the distant echo of my childhood – all sunny skies and patient family cries. Tired arms and tired bodies, water splashing in tall thin arcs. The green grass of home, paved by history and rolled in love.
The invitation awaits, propped silently against the wooden desk but the envelope is not yet opened. Fingers cross and uncross, my thoughts wander. Laughter in the distance from couples walking home from the pub. The incessant rumble of traffic outside the front door.
I loved you then and I love you now – though I am a step removed from your daily life, hidden by distance and receded by time, clothed in memory, remembered but not firm.
This is how I spend my time, cut in two by present and past.
I still remember the gentle feel of your long auburn hair brushing against my cheeks as our lips met to kiss. It was a romance for half a year, no more and no less. It was open, refreshing and beautiful, but hidden behind a veil of confusion at the same time. I wanted you, you wanted me, but we could not be, not as I had hoped. The wording was oblique, the semantics confused. I wanted a definite article, I wanted that anchor in your heart. There is no doubt what I needed, that I felt that my feet were temporarily passing in your shadow.
You are now but a shadow of love in my romantic history, fondly remembered.
I’d be lying if I said that if I did not think of where you could be now, what sights do your eyes rest upon, what body does your hand caress. Do you ever think of me?
Love can be fleeting, love can be transient. It can last as long as a lungful of air quickly evaporating on a pane of glass or it can cross centuries in timeless prose and unhurled passionate throes. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still think of you with loving thoughts. Our time is long past of course, I am settled with that thought.
The envelope sits unopened still though. I’m not ready for that.