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  • It'd been three weeks. I didn't understand my feelings for you until I was no longer allowed to, until you were gone.

    I still told myself I’d take any extra moment with you. A second, a minute, an hour, a day, a year. Anything. Anything…

    Unexpectedly and gradually you came back into focus, asked me if I wanted to hang out… the beach maybe?

    On that curving finger of shingle and sand between the waters we ambled through desolation, ruin, sadness, hope, possibility; a rough and shifting beauty at the end of the world, under a big, tumultuous and turbulent sky.

    (if you ever needed to walk through a bunch of ready-made metaphors to weave a romantic tragedy, it was all there…)

    I watched you. I couldn’t tell before and I couldn’t tell then, what you wanted from me, what you saw. You know I can be slow like that. I've wondered if it was the day I finally fell for you, even though we were no longer together. But I don't really know when I succumbed, this love crept up on me slowly, enveloping and embracing; bewitching and poisonous.

    Somewhere along that path, you saw who I truly was. I think only you ever did, see me as I wished to be seen. All of me, complex and contradictory, fearful but faithful, simple and soulful.

    Later you told me “I'm yours and your mine.”

    It was the best day. A big day you said.

    I won’t go back there again.

    I’d wander that looping path, seeing ghosts.

    The notsmoke monster, the girl at the grey beach by the old lighthouse, sheltering from the rain in the old hut, creeping past suspicious sheep, laughing at the barechested teenager who licked his hand and rubbed his nipples, standing on the jetty at the end of the world, hearing me tell her "you can't get overwet."

    I'd go around the loop again, hoping she’d find me again, see me with those eyes again, for just a moment. A fraction of a ghost of her would be nourishment enough.

    --

    Music: Mercury by John Murphy
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