I’ve been uncommunicative, silent and regressive only to you. You are not the reason or the cause, just someone to take it out on. Take out what? What’s the matter? I feel quite grounded a lot of the time, but sometimes scared and lost. I’ve been angry, bitter and I hope this doesn’t sound blameful. A year ago, I met you in Brighton and I cried the whole time. I had so many feelings built up about loneliness and Paris and a lot of darkness in me and you didn’t ask but I couldn’t share so instead I turned fear and sadness into anger. I couldn’t share because by articulating it, I’d have had to think about it. That’s not okay and not fair on you. You’ve not let me down, you’ve not been bad. I’ve just been expecting some sort of guardian angel to come and save me. Save me from what? From loneliness, that sadness I get when I feel alone but am surrounded by love. When the loneliness goes, I know it’s gone because I feel powerful and happy and I have faith in my relationships but from time to time it creeps back. I have things to talk about, I want someone to guide me, someone to care but it’s unfair for me to put that on you. Only I can get rid of it, only I can challenge myself and find the route away from pathos.
Before graduation I cried the whole night in turmoil about all the faces I would be so far from. It’s not logical half the time. Afterwards, on the train heading back from Southampton to Oxford, I rested my head against the window and a hand came gently from the roof of the carriage, took my wrist and slowly pulled me up and outside where we sat on the top of the train as it roared and rattled through the countryside. My hair blew across my face and covered the views then the hand guided me back into the train until I rejoined my body that leant against the window.
Back home, looking up from the fields, the moon would drift from behind the clouds and the stars would light the sky. My favourite time of year was whenever the nights were cold. We’d wander outside and the icy air would wake me up and I’d feel in the middle of something beautiful; protected, guarded and sheltered by all those stars and the blanketing cloud. I don’t mind that it’s gone because it isn’t really. I can picture so clearly those winter nights and the memories are strong of us wandering the countryside at dusk. Those images are uncorrupted, untainted and I can hold on to them. I’m still there, fifteen and lying in the garden in the silent brightness of 3am. I never want these memories to go. They remind me of myself and that I want to keep seeking and seeing blissful night skies.