Little Fish

18th October 2011

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For JB Hammond.

In October, the days are shorter and here I am still standing. Sometimes, however, I feel weak and my knees bend when faced with hurt that beats. Suppose it is true that there is no right and wrong in this world? Through curses, tears and violence, fears and blindness disguise their similarity: our secret loneliness.

In the café on Old Headington High Street, Johnny serves us our usual coffees and in the building in front of me, behind some old curtains I see a young child cry. The window doesn’t soak up the sound of his screams but does enough for us to ignore them. A pigeon trots looking lost beside our feet and with our backs to the wall, we sit and read.

It doesn’t take me much for me to think of him. Love, it’s like an addiction; it’s like a stab in the heart. I like it when he says (or is it me that makes him say it?) “ Now that you’re in my boat, shall we rock it together?” With this soft thought, my eyes fail to comprehend how strange it is to be alive where we both dress in black.

I never told him how alone and naked I felt before I met him. I had been worn down from the passage of time: the roads I once followed were empty and I knew the twists almost by heart. If only now my heart were made of stone, it would have been a perfect day to shape the others upon.

This moment will never find itself again.

Tagged: juju rambles writing