I have to write. I have to stop waiting for inspiration and just find it and run with it and make it alright.
The sun, an intense orange now, started to silently sink slowly towards the horizon. Just one breath of the evening air was enough to capture your imagination and as I slowly and purposefully inhaled, shivers were sent rushing down my spine and the dull ache of the fence pressing beneath me was momentarily numbed. As I waited, bathed in still evening air, I surveyed the panorama before me, looking down into the sleepy village, cupped in the palm of the secluded valley. I felt lucky to have ever seen this, as I took in the breathtaking, entrancing scene for the last time. My gaze was then averted to the glade a field below, where I knew she would be sat. I couldn’t go there, I cannot face her. I’m so sorry.
I entered as usual, from the bottom gate. I usually passed through this narrow opening, just room for a single person to squeeze through. It was a kissing gate, my kissing gate and everytime, in recent months, that I had passed through it, I had brushed his lips, soft and sensuous, against my own.
That would not happen today, and I wasn’t expecting it to. It didn’t feel right, however to pass through this gate alone, without feeling something was somewhat missing, and I did not feel ready to accept that. Instead, I headed right, and opted to clamber over the cold, rigid frame of the gate.
As I hit the ground and began to walk, more swiftly today than before, I felt the ground give below my feet. The recent rainfall meant the ground was soft and damp and was therefore not a first choice of a seat, as for many days in the months previously it had been.
We had lain there. Silently. In the grass. Away from the world. Alone. Many hours had been carelessly whiled away, the sweet smell of summer rain, his fingers running along mine. Laughter would suddenly break out from the echoing silence, as prolonged eye contact got too much for either of us to take at all seriously.
This had been our place.
Not anymore. Never again.
Today I saw this place from a different perspective, I felt empty and alone whereas before my feeling had been so content. I looked around, feeling the gaze of nature resting firmly on me. Ducks that had been subjected to our gaze and avid camera lenses invading their previously undisturbed privacy. Their feathers appeared dulled and their once friendly quacks seemed to warn me off as I approached their waterfront- so I changed my line of descent and upped my pace. As I approached through the narrow glade, I caught sight of the secluded spot, silent and empty. As I sat and looked, my heart raced, seeing what I could see, yours would too. I snatched at the evening air, soft and sensuous- filling my lungs like feathers being spilled into a pillowcase- and as its slight current drew past my face, my eyes welled and a stream of salt water began to trickle down my sunkissed cheeks. The sleepy village below was silent, only the hum of a productive bee swarmed towards my ear.
The day he told me was like any other. We had walked. And talked. We came to rest in the glade- early morning, mid April, the frost still prickled in the grass. Nothing seemed unusual, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. This person was my everything, I thought I knew him so well- if something was wrong I’m sure I would have been able to tell. He finally broke down and told me- quite suddenly- I reflexed with disbelief. This couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t, was it? It was.
I come here to think, as often as before, but evidently: alone. Everytime the same rush hits me the moment I turn at the panorama before me. I sit and watch a while, and if I keep looking, down towards the sleepy valley, he could almost be sat beside me; my fingers tingle. His brushing mine? No. Just the breeze.