Are you there?

All the things that matter to me, mattered to us,

Matter so little to anyone else

If they even matter at all. It’s all so intimate. Small.

No-one but you could ever remember how we sat in that bar.

I can try and explain, paint a picture, tell the tale of our joy and the blight on our stars,

But really, why should anyone care?

No-one but you can know or remember that one special night

When we met in a world that was flooded with lights.

We were there. We were present. We were so very there.  

No-one but you can remind me of words even I have forgotten past reasonable trace.

I have to scrape every shadowy cave of my brain just to recall the shape of your face.

A face I so loved. A beautiful face.

No-one but you could make me keep looking, hoping to see you around every corner, through a window, in a crowd, alone on a bench, out with your kids (assuming you had some), walking through galleries, buying fruit at the market.  Do you still play guitar and sing in the street? Do you visit our favourite tree in the park? You’re far older for sure. So am I. Have we passed in the street? Maybe you can’t even walk anymore. I don’t care as long as you’re there. Somewhere, still there.

I’m so frustrated looking for you,

when I know in my heart that you’re already gone.

How can I ever know if that’s true?    

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I don’t want to go to a party

I don’t want to go to that party or any other party ever again. I have never liked parties. Now I like them even less. Everyone laughing and playing as if the world is the same as it was, as it was before but it’s not.  How can they play at a party? Don’t they know or care that we’re all going to die. Everything dies. My dog died; my cat died. I cried. It was sad but the world was still normal. Now my grandad died, and it’s changed. Christmas is not going to be the same. They said Father Christmas isn’t real. Nothing is the same. It’s all nothing. The world feels like it’s wrapped in an old damp sock that I can’t take away from my mouth. They told me not to cry so I don’t. They said I will make it harder for everyone else if I cry. I wouldn’t cry now anyway. I am stuck inside a bubble. The world used to be light even when it was cloudy. My grandad and I played a game with the clouds, seeing shapes and making up stories. We saw a dragon swallow itself in the wind, one little puff at a time.