We have been together for longer than we haven’t.
Do you remember that day, that beer in the village,
that evening, that night?
Do you remember? I do.
And yes, life has changed,
life has definitely changed us,
life has of course green splintered and mended,
yes to all of those things, yes of course.
But still when I see you,
my eyes open or closed tight,
still when I see you I remember that evening,
the evening when the shadows were gone.
In my mind it’s always the day before. The sun was sunny, the grass was green, you said ‘I love you’ and it didn’t sound strange.
A whisper in the silence is the only sound; and then is gone. Sal turns in his bed but there is no one there. Then he remembers.
I wake up early in the morning and do not understand why you are not here. The bed and the room look strange, perhaps a hotel. I don’t remember checking in. I’ll write you a poem for when you walk through the door. I fold the paper and leave it on your pillow.
I don’t recognise the woman who walks me along to the breakfast room but she seems very friendly. I feel a bit of an idiot that I still don’t remember checking in but breakfast is tasty. They have all my favourites.
Our bed has been made when I get back. I think I left something on it but can’t quite remember what it was. You’ll know, you always do. I’ll ask you when you get back.
As someone once said, a sleep is always welcome. When I wake up, you are not here. I think I’ll write you a poem for when you get back but am interrupted by that nice woman again. She shows me a pile of papers she is holding. What do I think of them? The first one is a poem. It’s rather good, if derivative. I think I may have seen it somewhere before. I look at the others. She has made a mistake! They are all the same! I don’t want to embarrass her so I say I like the first one but am not so sure about the others. She smiles. She’s very pleasant.
I can only get one channel on the TV but that’s ok – I haven’t seen the programme they’re showing. It’s a bit amateurish, some sort of reality thing, but I like the look of the young woman. Lovely smile. I’ll tell you about it when you get back. I’m not sure why, but I’m exhausted. It’s night time already. I’ll write you a poem in the morning.
I wake up early in the morning and do not understand why you are not here.
A firework arcs across the night sky of your past, arching, falling, then dampened beneath the sand of your years of life, of experience. And then, then, it sparks into life again, and you are shaking, dazzled, your heart a hammer.