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
