It was me.

It could have been the wind, that possessed your hair. It could have been the sun, that coloured your cheeks. It could have been the sand that made your toes curl.

But I like to think it was me that affected you.

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Secret Lover

I am no-one’s secret, lover

I am a prize, just as you are

As I hope I showed you

I don’t only exist in the dark

when you need an ear, a cuddle, or to come.

I’ve needs and thoughts and I hoped you cared

enough to see them in the light, too

I just wanted you to hold my hand in the street

where people would see us

because I am no-one’s secret lover

 

Pieces

I am the in between one

a bridge between two others

I will gather all your pieces

when you thought them lost

painstakingly discover them

through long conversations

filled with hair stroking

kissed fingertips, tears

and all of my labour

and once I find all the parts

I’ll glue you back together

Make you see how perfect you are

how perfect you were already

perfect enough for you to thank me

and to float on to the next

and for me, tomorrow

there’ll be another almost-whole

to discover, collect and embrace

but what about my pieces?

Precious.

He’s a tall man. A full two heads closer to the sky than she is. She turns her head when they hug or else she’d suffocate on his sternum. He makes her belly ache with laughter and with butterflies. Often at the same time.

When he holds her she feels like a tiny gift. He tells her she’s small when he holds her feet in his hands or when she wraps her arm around his waist. It’s endearing in a way she’s not felt for a long time.

What a precious thing – to be precious – she thinks. What a skill to make someone else feel that way.

Can only small people be made to feel precious? Or does she have a chance to affect him in the same way? There’s all the time in the world to try.

Trying. 

With tears in his eyes, he angrily told me I didn’t understand him. I could tell he was pushing for me to challenge; to prove him wrong. I knew he wanted desperately to be heard, to not feel alone. I wanted so badly to be the one to give him that.

I wondered, then, as I looked at the furrowed brow that had always been so soft and loving before now, whether he was saying this to me or his ex girlfriend. 

I agreed that I didn’t understand. I wouldn’t dare argue with his truth. All the same my heart broke; I didn’t understand him even though I tried more than he realised. I tried as hard as I could. But trying isn’t enough.

Crazy.

The city was an actual nightmare this morning. Thousands of people, swarming into all of the empty space, searching for Boxing Day sales and somewhere to sit. I braved the sun, wearing an open back dress that I’d never worn before. Behind me I overheard “I’m glad I don’t look like that” and of course I assumed they were talking about me. I wanted to turn around and ask them what they said, dare them to say it again, ask them if they were referring to the back I had uncovered, but I didn’t. Because that would be crazy.  It was 25 degrees by 11am but I put a cardigan on. That’s less crazy, right?