Sunday, 8 November 2015

I am not

It is autumn, a leaf has been discarded by its parent tree. Combined, the rain and sun have worn down its flesh and left only the skeleton, deceptively fragile. I am not the leaf, disintegrating under natural forces.

A moth lands, delicately fluttering, disguised by the mottled pattern of leaves. Another leaf, heavy with rain, brushes past its wing casting up a smear of golden powder as the delicate instrument of flight is battered irreparably. I am not the wing, operative but still broken to those who know where to look.

A hedgehog burrows, nuzzling out unfortunate grubs, chewing on each tasty morsel as it catches them. I am not the grub, to be eaten and crushed by the weight of its predator's jaw.

I am none of these parts of the great cycle of life and rebirth.

I have my own place. It has natural forces of its own which I can feel wearing me down day by day. It grants me scar tissue and tear tracks that I disguise for my own sake. It comes with a weight, an oppression which I can feel bearing down on me day by day.

This place is unrelenting. I feel it continuously grinding at my soul and I cannot escape.

Above all I feel the isolation and it is more acute because my isolation has a shape. It comes in a form I recognise; the shadow of your absence. When you are here I can forget, for a tiny moment, that it's me against reality. For a moment I can feel a part of a team. For a moment I can feel my heart beat and I am not afraid of it.

But you are gone forever and I have to learn to live with it. I have to hold on to my hopes that one day your shape will dissipate and my loneliness will become an amorphous blob to be filled by anyone that I allow to come close enough.

I have to let you go.


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