Saturday, 16 March 2013


Savage to have an experience of honeyed significance and to not know whether you are having it alone. Hard to maintain that defensive air of nonchalance when your heart is swelling and your chest is rising and a wind of sweetness just wants to spiral from your cells towards him. Did he think of me in the moments before, even the days before? Did he note the coincidental aspects of the timing that brought me into his path on that day? A sign, an omen, a connection.

Were his recited lyrics expressed with my soft heart in his mind? And if so, was it out compassion, a mere humanly kindness? Or something more resolved, deeper, lovelier? Hope makes me spiral and spin and I want to remain steady, focussed on my process of rejuvenation and renewal. Each question mark scribed above weakens me, pointless sacrifices of my energy and time. And I know now I can remain at this distance, and even further, from him, if I have to, if he loves another. So I quieten those thoughts and remind myself that in the end, I am helpless to change anyone else's feelings towards me. Thinking it, willing it, will not make it so. Better to throw my arms skywards, starbound, and embrace whatever comes my way, be it nothing, or it's delicious opposite. I suppose it might help if I were braver, let down my protective stance, drop my guard a bit. Habit now when you feel like you've probably already been shown the hand of an unrequited feeling, but your stubborn disbelieving soul won't accept it.

Writing comes easily to me after just snippets of time in his company. My unlikely muse.

Don't think on this any longer. Highly likely he's living happily ever after with a girl he loves. I know nothing of his life these days. Better I wander away for a bit, then wander back in when the time is right. Wayward girl, directions, many of them, to run in.

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