And suddenly I looked up and I realsied that outside everything is as still as it should be...dawn falls softly acorss the city covering this world with birdsong and the promise of warmth...dawn is chasing darkness to the far corners of the world... Inside my tower is it cold.. and I am ice. I see the warmth and life reflected in the glass...I watch it as a watcher, no longer able to participate...There is one window.. and a mirror positioned so I can see the reflection of all the normal people leading normal lives while I am far removed. Once I watched such things in wonder, and let them touch me; once my needs were simple and easily met and you loved me. I wanted you and life and love. I imagined growing old with you, sitting, watching you with all the love I could yet feel.... I thought then that age would heightened the twinkle and meld us close I did not know that grief would freeze me solid, and that the loneliness deep down at my core would trully be the fate I must now live.
My vision blurs..pain made liquid... You are so damned easy to be around! Memories of you everywhere. Nights are terrible... if I fall asleep.. I jerk awake and find myself reaching out for you.. and then I cannot go back to sleep. I am tired all the time yet I cannot sleep. As usual I spent all my waking hours trying desparately NOT to think about you, you who has been such a huge part of my life for so long the one man who said he loved me and meant it.
I walked past a Home for the Aged on my way from the station the otehr day and wandered in and volunteered my services to help out over dinner two nights a week... This is a lifeline. Their need touches something elemental in me, and in their need I see a reflection of myself.
No you. Two small words and yet within them lies a bottomless well of pain and loss, a ceaseless mourning for touches never received and words now unspoken. No single word or combination of words big enough to adequately describe your loss. Not in my vocabluary. The memory of passion underscores every look, every movement... and it is difficult to breath. I cannot merely circle you outfitted with false smiles and pointless conversations. I battle to control my grief....the control I have is tissue thin, a layer of brittle ice on a cold black body of icy water... I am a walking wound of loneliness. I suppose caretaking is the only way I know to fill the void in my soul...
