We should know better, you and I, scarred as we are, battered by a life of loves and losses. By the freakish acts of harm visited upon us by a parent, a child, a partner, a lover, or that nasty little piece of history discovered that lodges stolidly in the gut, leaving you gasping for breath as you come up for air.
When I come to you, the day is likely to be hot and the sea disconcertingly blue-green as it slaps the sand irreverently before withdrawing. The black-faced shag will land atop the granite cliff rock, spread its damp wings, and look to sea with its blue-green eyes. There’ll be a stillness in the air.
I know your words, have felt through them to the man you are. WOW! Some of them went off at a tangent, too, defying the commonplace, beautiful, rough and bitingly sure. Some of them subtly sensitive, quivering whole, some even urbane. What to do with all that? Take it inside you and let it spread its huge liquid warmth, stir the different potions until no one colour emerges to stick fast? It’s all a giddy promise.
I could go on feeling my way among the words of more and more urgently exchanged emails, as we tap the keyboards, quickly, quickly, each day click SEND
with the latest offering. The pace of exchange has become insistent and if it’s not kept to, a need for it creeps in as forcefully as addiction.
Time to make it physical. Check out the demons face to face. See if we like the smell of one another.
The odds are against longevity for you, and I have been expecting early death from a young age and still do, despite having made it to the older years category.
Words have brought new life and we don’t care if the physical self might not quite accord with it. Because now so much seems possible. Just what precisely, we don’t know. But there’s sweet danger in the air and we’re rising to the occasion, as formless as that is, or might be. There’s a force inside that won’t let go. A dangerous liaison … who would have thought?