AFTER THE END 99



They are separated but he cannot let go of her yet.
He is holding her in ways he could not before
because false guardians kept him closed to imagined threat.
First, there was regret over what was done and said
then later, sorrow for what was not.
Memories are not untied by distance or mistakes.

Perhaps the first contact was prophetic - he offered her peanuts.

He told the smiling circle of her girlfriends at the kitchen table
that for the first time in his life, his heart was peaceful, because
of her. In the same London kitchen by candlelight and kissing
her neck, together on a chair. She in her long black and secret skirt,
tight to the hips, offering her throat for his tongue. He remembers her
silhouette against the summer night window without curtains, looking
out at the sky and trees. Then her turning and soft ballet steps, dark curves
flowing in shadow to lie beside him.

When she would be away longer than a weekend, he would spray the
pillows with her perfume to fall asleep quietly. He recalls every time
apart as leaving him only half human. Being so afraid of needing another
he called up his old shields, last used as a child, to guard the heart.
These 'protected' him from letting go and took too long to take down each
time she returned.

He remembers being exhausted from twenty one hours sleepless on a
coach, where every kilometre was covered by thoughts of her.
Hungry to hold and be held and to let the animal take over in the scent
of her skin and the sounds of her pleasure.
Him whispering, "We don't have to break this feeling or have to make
the problems others do, we can stay this happy".
The highest truth he'd ever spoken then. How badly this hurts now.

All the respect he had felt but not shown enough for her strength and patience,
her skills and rituals. His poor sense of understanding the idea of family.
Now he cannot turn over alone in his bed, without hearing "Like two spoons in
a drawer!" inside his lost head. What did he learn?

When she laughed, his logic fell apart and his eyes grew wet and he was always
surprised he could still feel joy, and always felt joy he could still be surprised.
Falling asleep next to the rushing power of the river, (a great teacher) waking up
in sunlight just in time to see her eyes open and shine. Their private woods,
Halloween tree, golden fields, leaves and snowfall.

Each moment took root and flowered in the gardens of the heart.

Now he is left with these memories and the photo of her rising out of the water,
gazing into the sunset.
Love colours the memory and memory feeds the spark which is the Spirit.
Memory never forgets itself.