Breathing air in a house via the gaps near the floor.

 

Chris.

I remember the first time I saw him, sat back, leaning on his chair - relaxed, in a room full of other kinds of people. Their superficial activity contrasting with the stillness of his soul. His vibe, a tribe I immediately recognised and gravitated towards, as if it was my own. We had a sweet unfurling after that, mutual, even though I still approached the wire with caution. And at each step of subsequent nearness; a natural kind of acceptance would emerge; one I would be amazed by- with none of the usual rejection and or fleeing away on foot. It seemed clearly, that,for this one, I was not too much. For he seemed to hold me tight and as precious as they come. It was all heart, the way he walked and talked the perimeters of my lines, not fleeing or fainting like the rest. Clearly, I was not too much in this meeting of intelligent hearts and minds. I needed that, I thought he was the best. I believed i'd made contact and a friend. I have no explanation for what came after that. I wonder if he was a small man, a thin man, a man with bending bones, a man for whom the weight of a large female body became too much; that perhaps it impinged upon and threw him out of his own orbit; all those heavy mounds and heavenly- coils of emotional female flesh. This older woman story, with the scratchy walls, and the past that burrows into sometimes mess. I Wonder if his legs began to seize and buckle, as he first took, and then sank within the weight. Whether his eyes bulged as his manhood shrank with a stomach that rolled in big, nauseous, not-quite so-grown-up- enough-mature-man waves. I wonder if it was the pressure of saying yes, when the shrinking tongue inside him, could not say no. I dont know what unmet need it was, that caused this sweet young lamb of a boy to break his vows and go. I do not want to scratch or bite or break the past, or diminish the soft light of sweet intensity with which it glowed. In all honesty it  would makes no sense or difference; except to say that the air has gone and all the fields now lie silent; bathed only in a red flush of poppies; their broken stalks and black-eyed gaze, the only indentations in a newly dug, and as yet corpse-less, unidentified grave. MB