I smiled. It was always the little things, the tiny details that caught you out in the end. In this case, it was the Rolex with its distinctive blue face and matching blue leather strap on my right wrist that had given me away. A parting gift from her. The irony not lost on me.
“You look as beautiful as always. So, where did you fly in from?”
Before Daisy could answer, a waiter pushed in between us, pencil poised, ready to take an order.
“Can I get you something?” he inquired with a heavy French accent.
“Sure. Two short blacks, a Pernod on ice, make that two. Thank you.”
The waiter scribbled down my order and left as abruptly as he came.
Daisy leaned in and spoke in a hushed voice. “Why do you always come here? The staff are so rude.”
“Yes, they are, but the view makes up for it and I’m a creature of habit.”
The Café de Mer lived up to its name. Perched high on a clifftop, overlooking the beach below and thunderous waves breaking onto the jagged rocks.
“So tell me, what made you come back here?” I asked.
I could see the subtle change in her expression, like a cloud passing quickly in front of the sun.
“I don’t know. Maybe because I thought I might find you here.” Her hand reached across the table and held mine. “I’ve missed you.”
I pulled my hand away. The old bitterness returning, catching me unaware.
“Well, whose fault is that? You never even said goodbye. All I got was a crumpled note that explained nothing and this watch left on the pillow.”
I stood up, the anger pulsing through my veins.
Daisy gave me a pleading look. “Please don’t leave.”
“Two short blacks and two Pernods.”
The waiter placed the cups and glasses on the table.
I waited for him to go before giving my answer.
“Give me one good reason why I should stay.”
A lone tear ran down her cheek, a trembling hand reaching for mine again. A sad smile returning to Daisy’s lips.
“I’m dying.”
—
I threw the shell away.
Sending it spinning into the sea.
Daisy’s voice fading beneath the sparkling blue where her ashes lay scattered.
I now understood why she left me.
It was love that drove her away from my arms.
Her way of trying to shield me from the dreadful truth that would take her from me forever.
“I wanted you to remember the good times.”
And it was love that made her return.
The distance between us more painful to bear than the hidden death that crept silently through her bones.
We spent the last few months as lovers often do.
Lost in our own world of make believe, hiding from reality, living each day as if it was our first.
Walking along the beach at sunset.
Hands entwined.
Building our sandcastles.
A Perfect Day
Dappled light
plays hide-and-seek,
with summer leaves
of rustling green,
the restless swans
in rippling pond,
your hand in mine
where it belongs,
a pale blue sky
with red balloons,
a coffee stirred
with plastic spoon,
a park-side view
our kisses sent—
from trembling lips
and melting hearts,
how lovers pass
a perfect day.
The Curse
You were a curse
gift-wrapped in poetry,
breaking hearts
with broken verse.
Depression
There were days when it seemed like the whole world was against me.
Hell-bent on destroying what little confidence I had left.
My hands desperately trying to grip onto the last strands of sanity—bare white knuckles clenched tight.
A big black dog I called Depression held my life in its powerful jaws.
Threatening my very existence with its razor-sharp fangs.
And just when I thought I would finally be totally consumed, my life ripped to shreds, somehow you were always there to rescue me.
To kiss away the unhappiness and self-doubt from my quivering lips.
Holding back the grim darkness with your reassuring words.
“Everything is going to be okay.”
The Words You Say
Of all the things
you’ve said to me,
sometimes rainbows
other times storms,
it’s the red roses
you plant inside my heart,
that I remember,
every time you say
the words—
I love you.
Stay Together
Never say never
nor question whether,
two distant hearts
can stay together,
for true love
is a ship,
that can sail
in any weather.
Dreaming
When you hold me in your arms, there are times when I have to pinch myself. Just to remind me I’m not dreaming.
Black Stockings
You were naked.
Except for a pair of sheer black stockings you wore with matching heels. Sitting on a hard wooden chair with your knees apart.
“I have a little surprise for you.”
I watched as your fingers reached down and slowly tore a hole in the crotch of the stockings. Your eyes never leaving mine as more of your pussy was exposed with each rip of the fabric.
“Shame to ruin such a pretty pair of stockings,” I replied.
Sophia laughed and opened her legs wider.
“Well, perhaps it’s your turn to ruin me.”
—
“Do you think I’m kinky?”
“No. I think you’re a girl blessed with a vivid imagination.”
The Words You Spoke
It was your words
I missed the most,
softly spoken
in winter gray,
beautiful—
spilling from lips
like falling snow
in late November,
every conversation
a poem written,
melting my heart—
so warm,
so wonderful,
so unforgettable—
the words
you spoke.
Cry for Me
Cry for me,
not when I’m dead,
for that will be too late—
cry for me now
while I’m still here,
to kiss your tears
away.
The Meaning of Life
“What do you think the meaning of life is?” she asked, staring up at the stars.
I blew a spiraling plume of smoke from a glowing joint into the warm night air.
“To love and be loved,” I replied.
“Oh, really? I always thought it was a large bowl of vanilla ice cream with strawberries on top.”
You Lived for Books
You lived for books,
lost within a dusty world
of turned pages,
each sentence read
a breath drawn,
every word—
the blood
rushing through
your vei
ns,
how I wished
I was a story,
inside a book,
held lovingly
in your hands,
never to be
put down.
Love Yourself
Sometimes we are so generous with our love, so willing to give it all away, that we leave nothing behind for ourselves.
My Fault
My words—
poorly chosen,
ill spoken,
screamed
into a fierce wind,
a mistake
blown back,
misdirected,
now directed—
at a heart,
I alone
have broken.
Stay Strong
Even the darkest of days will pass. A cloud cannot hide the sun forever.
The Missing Sock
“I think I’m going mad,” Lucy said with her head buried in a drawer, hands tossing different-colored socks onto the bedroom carpet.
Her sudden exclamation caught my attention, enough to tear me away from the book I was reading, The Anthology of Wailing Ghosts by Victor Varnish.
“There’s no risk of that happening, you went mad years ago,” I laughed.
Lucy turned and gave me that stare, the one that took a handful of confusion and threw it into a blender with a sprinkling of annoyance.
She held up one white knee-length sock and dangled it in front of me.
“Have you seen the other one? I can’t find it anywhere.”
I leaned forward in the bed, took a closer look, and shook my head.
“No, I haven’t. Socks have a habit of going missing.”
—
We lay in bed, the end credits from The Shining rolling up the television screen. It was one of our favorite movies and we never got tired of watching it.
I noticed the puzzled expression written across Lucy’s brow as she reached for another pistachio nut from the bowl. Her nimble fingers quickly breaking the salty outer shell and popping the greenish-purple kernel into her mouth.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Lucy started to chuckle, picking up another pistachio.
“It’s that bloody sock! I can’t stop thinking about where it could be. It’s driving me crazy.”
I wrapped my arm around her slender shoulders and gently pulled her toward me. My lips pressed up against her right ear.
“Let me tell you a little story,” I whispered.
—
A few years ago I visited Florence. Where I spent most of my days drinking cosmopolitans in a local bar just around the corner from the hotel I was staying in. Hoping for inspiration to strike, to give me an idea for a new book. It didn’t happen and I just got drunk.
Anyway, one particular morning, I was joined at my regular table by an elderly gentleman with the most remarkable handlebar
moustache. The other significant thing I noticed was the suit he was wearing. Beautifully tailored, all white, except for a bright orange handkerchief neatly folded into a triangle poking out of the top pocket of his jacket.
We exchanged a few meaningless words as strangers often do, discussing the weather and so on, before deciding to share a rather fine bottle of Chianti wine.
By the time the second bottle arrived, the conversation had shifted, and I discovered he was an astrophysicist. More than that, he told me in great detail about his life’s work. How he was on a quest to explain the concept of unexpected loss. To be more specific, to solve the mystery of where certain lost items eventually end up and why so many vanish with no logical explanation.
Maurice, that was his name, by the way, had a theory. One he tried to bring to life with a lot of scribbling and the drawing of diagrams on the white tablecloth with a blue Biro. All the time
speaking with enthusiasm about the disappearance of lost keys, jewelry, umbrellas, and all manner of everyday objects.
His eureka moment came as our waiter topped up our glasses with a third bottle.
According to him, hiding somewhere between our world and another dimension is a tear in the fabric of time and space. A disruption in the magnetic field that he said surrounded our planet.
He believed that this anomaly was responsible for literally making random objects vanish; as to where they finally ended up, was still a work in process.
I can clearly remember the moment when he banged the table with his fist, startling the other patrons in the bar, his eyes fixed firmly on mine.
“People too!” he shouted. “Why do you think so many missing person cases are never solved?”
I nodded in agreement, anything to get him to calm down and lower his voice.
It was then I noticed the sad expression appear across his wrinkled face as he slumped back into the chair.
He calmly reached inside his jacket and took out a brown leather wallet. Opened it and passed it over to me with a deep sigh.
In the sleeve of the wallet was an old black and white photograph of a young woman standing on a beach. She was smiling.
Maurice took the wallet back.
“Even love can be lost without any logical explanation,” he muttered quietly under his breath.
—
I reached into the bowl of pistachios, my fingers searching through the empty shells, finally finding one that was still intact.
“And? What did he say next?” Lucy demanded, poking me hard in the ribs.
“Oh, nothing, that was it, really. We said our goodbyes and I stumbled back along the cobble streets to my hotel.”
Lucy watched me eat the last pistachio, eyes staring blankly.
“You know, that is actually an incredibly sad story,” she said, picking up the lone white sock and holding it tightly against her chest.
“The best ones always are.”
—
“I read somewhere once that ‘lost is a lovely place to find yourself.’”
“I guess that all depends on how you got lost in the first place.”
On Any Other Day
On any other day
I would go quietly
and be lost
within the trees
of forest green—
to become invisible,
unseen.
How simple it would be
to throw this love away,
to never look back
and just leave—
on any other day.
Never Forget
When a relationship ends, no matter how painful, always remember it is not the end of love.
We Wandered
We wandered—
across stony ground,
the pebbles beneath
our feet like cotton balls,
the bitterly cold wind—
a warm blanket
wrapped around
naked shoulders,
the scratches
from thorns,
playful fingers
tickling legs.
For nothing
can take away
from love’s
gentle touch.
Romance
Romance seldom happens overnight. Sometimes we have to grow the roses before we can give them.
Goodbye
When you say goodbye, please whisper it. Better still, say nothing and just tiptoe quietly out of my life.
Clarity
“How can you love me when you don’t love yourself?”
Now I understand why you said those words to me.
Why you had to let me go.
Only I had the power to destroy the demons lurking deep inside of me.
&nbs
p; To find the strength to drag myself out of the dark abyss.
Back into the light.
Toward the lone candle you left burning in the window.
Guiding me back into your waiting arms.
A Rainy Afternoon
How wonderful—
on a rainy afternoon,
when the space
between us closes,
and I can feel
your warm breath
caress my neck,
your legs wrapped
around my waist,
winter’s song
playing softly,
while we fuck
beneath the covers,
in rhythm
with the raindrops.
A Memory Captured
There were moments, fleeting shadows, when the sunlight caught her hair, like a ’70s photograph taken with a Hasselblad camera.
A cigarette lit and held by pretty red lips.
A quiet alarm clock and a French bulldog barking.
An untouched croissant sitting on a lilac plate by the side of the bed.
A vase of yesterday’s flowers slowly dying on the windowsill.
Her bedroom, our secret darkroom.
Where love slowly came to life in muted colors.
Nobody’s Fool
I dreamt of sleep.
My eyelids heavy, the dark circles getting darker by the hour. Sitting upright in my bed, hands holding a silent phone. Waiting for a call, a text, anything to release me from this quiet hell.
Deep down I knew the truth and my wounded heart finally accepted it.