ships to sea

She visited on a Sunday.

She went in, “Hello, it’s me here.”
But he barely opened his eyes.
Until he did.
And he asked for the time.

She was going to leave, but the nurses urged her to stay.
To talk to him.
So, of course, she did.
For ten minutes, whilst he slept.

The previous visit she’d taken him an old photo to look at.
There was a poem on the back.
She said it was about ships going out to sea.
She said it sounded like dying.

He’d asked her to put the photo at the end of the bed for him to see.

Sleep tight.

Lasts

There are some lasts we don’t remember.
They pass us by in their seeming insignificance.

The last time your dad made your lunch.
The last time your mum read you a bedtime story.
The last time you were tucked in goodnight.
The last time you were picked up at the school gates.

But there are some lasts we’ll never forget.
That last exam before graduating.
The last time you spoke to your gran on the phone.
That last goodbye at the airport.
The last time you squeezed their hand and they squeezed it back.

I don’t know which lasts are more important. The ones that slip past us, unnoticed, or the ones etched into our memories forever.

But, if you had known at the time, that those insignificant lasts would never happen again, would you have behaved differently? Hugged them for longer? Held onto the moment for just a fraction more? Said thank you, and I love you?

things we used to say

We used to say
“I’m so in love with you”
and
“Would it be okay if I spent the rest of my life with you?”

We used to say
“I feel I can achieve anything with you by my side”
and
“You give me warm fuzzy feelings inside”.

We used to text each other
“Your eyes sparkle”, and
“I feel at home in your arms”
and
“I would trust you with my life in your wide open palms”.

We used to text each other
“I’m so proud of you”
“You give my life meaning”
and “you’re the love of my life, too”.

40 months, and 24 days later.

Now, we text each other, if we even text at all,
“I hope you’ve had a nice weekend”
and “sleep well”
and I wish I didn’t feel this small
without you.

polaroids

I just found a stack of polaroids, hidden in my bookcase. Of me and you. In Nepal. Walking the Marijuana Trail from Nargakot to Bhaktapur. You standing in front of a big golden Buddha in the background, smiling sleepily at the camera, squinting into the sun. And a black and white one of us sat on the floor of the airport in Kathmandu. Exhausted, but happy, and together.

And another set of photos from Towersey. Where we cooked on the trangia, and you exclaimed proudly “I’m a scientist now!” because you’d successfully lit the burner. Back when we wore whatever the fuck we wanted (Towersey mode, we used to call it); silk shirts and hippy pants, topi hats and bandanas, and glitter on our faces every day. Our little tent with our double air mattress, and our fairy lights and homemade bunting.

Back when we were still a team. Do you remember those times like I do? Do you miss us the way I miss us? Do you still think of me, the way I still think of you, the last thought before I go to sleep, and the first when I wake up? Do you?

Or have you moved on already? To somebody new? I don’t want to know actually.

Because I’m stuck.

I wish we’d never left Wales. I wish things were how they used to be. I wish I was still your best friend, your adventure buddy for life. I wonder, do you ever wish the same? Do you still wish things were more simple? Because right now, I feel sick to the stomach with grief.

Where did we go so wrong? It’s not “just how it’s meant to be”. What happened to us? When did I lose you for good?

Please tell me.