Some Odd Shorts

A Place to Be

Sat against the tree watch the ants struggle through the grass and hear salt burned leaves rustling in the warm breeze. Looking at the clouds twisting in the clear blue sky I see the white flash of a gull. Breath deeply the earth smells trying to heal a soul hurt beyond earth’s power. Letting a mind wander where it would go and won’t go again. Silver ring gleams on your finger once as you walk away and are gone. Unsaid words hang ephemeral as smoke in stilled air. Did you choose the perfect day to decide enough was enough? So you just came to say that that was it and that’s all gone now for sure and some kind of love had to end. All I wanted was a place to be; a place to be in; with you just you and me. The ants know what they’re about, know where they go and try hard no matter what. Said you didn’t believe in my way anymore and it was your choice to be free of me. And I said I never wanted you to be a prisoner or feel trapped in any way and if you wanted to leave please go anytime because as much as I love you I want you to be happy too. And then your silence thundered for a while as thoughts of what might be said in that moment stirred like ashes in a dying fire and you got up slowly and walked away. Was it a dream? All I’ve ever wanted was a place to be.

No Matter Man

When you met him he was a man of infinite wonder all your dreams incarnate. You stared at him with such love in your eyes that he couldn’t meet your gaze. You clung to him as if he would disappear at any second touching his cheek softly in the darkness to check that he was real and he shivered inside at your touch. You listened to every word as if seated at the feet of a great sage and seer. He warned that love changes everything so remember how it is in the beginning when nothing hurtful has been said and eyes and ears see no wrong. Every gesture he made amazed you and you said he was the best there had ever been or ever would be. You said you would always love him no matter what might be.

Now years have passed and you don’t see him as a man at all. Dreams and expectations unrealised and unfulfilled. You stare at him with such barely concealed contempt it scorches his heart and buries his hope. You avoid his touch and turn from him in bitterness and disgust until he expects nothing. Loathing your life and what you became in spite of some idea of some different path. You walk away when he speaks and ignore what he says never hearing anymore until he no longer speaks. Every gesture he makes you misinterpret as flawed and aimed to annoy you so he doesn’t try any more. You no longer say anything about him except to criticise and blame. So he became a ‘no matter man’ to you and no one noticed when one day he disappeared – least of all you.

One Unasked for Kiss

Missing her by minutes then hours then whole days and wondering if she ever missed him at all. Notes left on tables saying that ‘I love you’ then just ‘miss you’ then just enough and then no note at all. Exhausted nights too tired to hug talk or turn to say goodnight. One day realising there had been weeks since the last kiss and that no kiss had come unasked for for months. So he waited for an unasked kiss but it never came and he went and she went and another came and they went together leaving him alone. Then one last meeting and still he waited as surely this was the last chance there would ever be for an unasked kiss. But no kiss came asked for or unasked for and that was that.

English Streets

English streets are in my dreams. Sitting in Islington in ‘The Trevi’ eating Spacey Bob, laughing with Nick, Alan, and the gang. Looking out as red buses rumble by and black taxis prowl. My heart is aching so much to be home just for a second and to walk down those streets I love and remember all those places and moments that have made me me. Eat a big freshly made Cornish pasty on the cliff top at Sidmouth and drink a pint of ale watching canal boats in Camden. I want to hear English voices of my friends and family and strangers talking in the streets. My heart is so big I would hug them all and tell them I love them so much. God this hurts so much as I sit here in a bloody Starbucks in Okinawa listening to Nick Drake and typing and crying stupid tears alone with all these people missing those that I hold so dear. I imagine I’m walking with smoke filled eyes by St Paul’s across the Millennium Bridge to the Tate Modern or lashed by rain on Dartmoor I don’t care as these are honest tears. And all I can think about are English streets and English trees and even English weather with proper cold rain and a frost with clear blue sky to remind you you’re alive. And you know it’s all become so beautiful to me now all sparkling in the sunshine or drenched in its unsullied Englishness. Silly old England don’t you ever change because I love you just the way you’ve always been with your peculiar English ways. Dreams of English streets sparkling icy in the moonlight or dirty and grey; half eaten kebabs and puke in the gutter after a Friday night, whatever it is it’s all England and that’s fine by me.

You Don’t Call Me Now

We used to talk for hours about nothing much – but that was fine. Just talking, flirting, and laughing at each other for the fun of it. I could say anything to you. Microwaving our heads for hours with some brick of a phone and everything was never said and certainly never done. You were always the one so happy and full of joy for life. That night you called but I didn’t answer. Was that why they found the phone beside you? Is that why you wrote a note saying no one cares and no one was there for you when you needed them most. Was it too cruel a world with no one to tell about how much you hurt and feeling you had no one to open up your heart to and just listen. Did you feel there was no one left and that it was all too much to handle alone? When they told me you were gone I couldn’t believe it was true to think of someone leaving us as alive as you. We had just been busy and fallen out of touch for a while hadn’t we?

Meeting You Again

I meet you over and over again. Just when I think I am over you I meet you again and though your name is different you are the same. So when will I stop meeting you and when will we resolve this thing we keep doing? What do we have to do to escape this thing we always do? I am running out of years to get it right this time around. Next time I meet you maybe in the next lifetime please make it easy. Let’s cut to the chase ok and decide from the outset what we will do in the event of things taking their usual course and try to soften the blows. Or maybe we can just agree before hand that we will not do it and shake hands saving us all so much time and emotional energy. But I know I am going to meet you over and over again through many lifetimes and it will always be the same and I’ll always be the same and this is what will come out of it all. So let’s just accept each other and do the best we can until next time.

Modernist Nightmare

I have a recurring dream where I am in an outside indoor modernist house. It’s not a very interesting dream but in the dream this German guy is wandering about as if he is presenting a documentary and I am sitting there listening to him describing my house in minute detail in German. At first it is vaguely interesting but in the end I get up and try to talk to him but it appears that he is some kind of pre-programmed holographic projection and no matter what I do I cannot stop him until he has stopped then he starts again a short time later. I turn on the TV and no matter what channel I choose all the channels show programmes about events in my life in languages I don’t understand that sound like Finnish or Russian. Suddenly there is a newsflash that shows me dying in a deep sea diver’s suit to the accompaniment of Yellow Submarine that is sung in a Japanese or Korean dialect by what sounds like school kids. Pretty disturbing to say the least.

I wake up suddenly unable to breathe. People who don’t dream are fortunate indeed!