Monday: A love letter from a converting cynic.

There’s a secret forming. Not quite a secret, a stirring, something floating to the surface. But I don’t dare think it. My temperament is too difficult to second guess. I keep on thinking back to the park. When I bit your shoulder, gnawing at you from behind as we both knew what each other was thinking but didn’t dare say. Wanting you possibly more than ever. Shit, i’m more than scared. Do you realise what is happening to me. For the first time a long time my organ is opening, it’s blazing. I’ve been reading about broken hearts and how these sad people hurled them. I’m not seeming to care about all that now, me a million miles away... Will it be a different story, when you stand in front of me after this long scorching summer. Are you waiting for my confession? You are strong in your silence? I’m confused about how you feel and worry I’ve got you wrong. Then again I remember the unexpected night, after that long day working in England countryside. I came to see you and fell asleep on your bed and in the middle of the night you turned over and placed your hand over my side onto the space next to me sleeping body, happily you woke me. I keep on thinking about you when this Van Morrison songs comes on, Sweet thing. Fear, such a small word for such a fierce act, how it over comes your sense of adventure. I might as well be shit scared of feeling something important about you while being with you than being terrified and alone. Is there some sense there, No?

Sunday: This is the last time

I feel a tightness in my shoulders
worry is creeping up again
I feel short and sharp
and we all hate each other
spiteful words said in jest
feelings are rising up a lump in your throat
Fuck it hurts
I tell myself this is the last time
This is the last time
This is the last time
and that’s all I want to say to him.

Saturday: Steel birds cross the sky to other lands

Again waiting for a steel bird and its flight I continue to read a book that makes me want to cry. Cry for myself and the peoples lives that are ruined by loss. Ochsner writes about hearts ‘The saddest cases were the too-full hearts, the overworked ones still carrying good intentions and bad and all the fallout from a lifetime of lousy choices they’d promised themselves they’d forget but couldn’t because they were too busy twelve-stepping their way through therapy ... cracked and spilt at the chamber seams these hearts still managed to continue beating... ‘The Hurler.’

Friday: And from absolutely nowhere.

Before anyone had stirred from thier perfectly white honeymoon beds. A Hungerian with the dark dragon on his right calf drove us off the lovers bridge away from the fickle tourists in their manufactured (and yes perfect) paradise. He speeds us into the dense jungle that seemed to continue way off beyond the horizon. A strange sense of home swelled in my organs. The lanky 15 year old boy talked to his elephant. His words were strong, stern and kind. He told him to help and obligingly the elephant held out his trunk, the boy stepped on and was raised to sit on his head. Then moving the shy boy in his perfectly ironed true blue shirt and swimming trunks rubbed his foot on the bottom of the animals ear. There was something kind of like love and affection there. He was 32 and looked at me as if i were an angel, a celestial being he had never seen before. Almost with no words exchanged we waded through the river looking for snakes of tropical colours. I could feel that he was different from the other men I had seen of late. There was something in his eyes; (it’s always the eyes, they’re made of glass, are often see through and break easily) and there were lines in his face of something found that I haven’t yet, yet! His face wonderfully brown with deep set brown eyes, so hard and dark, one of a kind, never seen before. He sang to the snakes to wake and come out of the trees that fell over the river. While I took digitals on his camera he passed to me on stepping on his boat. We stood close while we waited for our lift and I checked my shots and came across him with wife and child. I became jealous. More often then not I long for days of married life; with dogs and babies and lemon dresses. For those seconds I was in love with a simple life I will never have nor understand.

Thursday: True colours.

I always underestimate the feeling of sadness. When I thought about home. Memories of this past year came. The red concertina red hat (that I saw at a market in Yu Gardens and thought of him), my sixty-nine percent. I am still so bitter and still hurting. Still. Hurting about things that could and shouldn’t matter. I’ve never been one with a happy disposition. I realised that when I was 16 at my college library listening to Lowgold with that wonderfully calm grey sky about to break snow. They never believe me though, I have one of those smiles. Not as fake as a Colgate smile but... she has a problem with her smile. How often am I going to fall for Prince Charming and be broken by Dorian Grey. Today is a day of failures. My cure failed me. He came back, briefly but it came from my heart- my disappointment

Wednesday: Unnervingly True.

All that is really demonstrated was that our future would be the same as our past, and that the sin we had done once, and with loathing, we would do many times with joy - Oscar Wilde

Tuesday: The nonsense we think.

She has those blue green eyes of a child born near the sea. Her nose red from the sun, her freckles glowing. She is lovely and sweet and you want to kiss her salty lips. Walking bare foot on the uncut grass where the chickens graze aimlessly while the dogs lie like lords and bark at scooters. Really this is all there is, and not much else. Everything else is just spaces between. They say the monsoon came yesterday while she watched moonlight mile. The way the ‘almost not’ widow touched the girl in the post room, the longing and aching for that extra forty percent. Outside the storm raged and still the boys played volley ball. An older woman talks about the flowers with their Latin names and I promise myself there will be a time when I know them too and have worn hands like hers from turning the soil.