Tuesday, 27 June 2017
Where it lives...
To The Lady on the Train,
You wondered how it is that you could be so lucky. I can tell you that it is not luck that makes me feel the way that I do about you... I will not give it a name, but I can tell you where to find it...
It rests in your beauty.
It is in your laugh.
It is in the changing shapes and colours of your eyes.
It is in the tumble of untamed curls.
It is in the soft skin on the back of your neck.
It is in every single familiar freckle across your shoulders.
It is in the way the small white hairs in the small of your back rise to a light touch.
It is in the length of your limbs.
It is in the impossible way you hold softness and strength within you.
It is in your every line and movement.
It is in your smile and in the air whenever you speak.
It fills the room whenever you walk in.
It is in the way that you affect everyone around you.
It is in the way sounds and light change when you are near.
It is wherever you are, preceding you and following you...
That is where it lives.
The Man in the Station
Wednesday, 21 June 2017
Not you...
She may love me and loathe me with all that she is.
She may hold and bend,
Angle and fight,
Release and wait.
She may stand on the shore helpless as I drown.
She may by the force of her will be more than a shadow.
Even with all these contentments, there is no joy.
Even with all these undeserved gifts, she is not you.
She may hold and bend,
Angle and fight,
Release and wait.
She may stand on the shore helpless as I drown.
She may by the force of her will be more than a shadow.
Even with all these contentments, there is no joy.
Even with all these undeserved gifts, she is not you.
Tuesday, 20 June 2017
Thursday, 8 June 2017
In Search of Wonder...
To The Lady on the Train,
You should know that I look for you in crowds and in unlikely places even though I know that you are miles away or even in a different country. I step onto streetcars and escalators expecting to see your smiling face turned toward me or perhaps to catch a glimpse of you as you turn a corner.
I could be standing on a busy street, lost in thought and from the corner of my eye or in the distance a woman, brown curls pulled back tricks me into hoping that it might be you. I look for you in every woman I see - in the shape and colour of her eyes, in the angle of her chin, the slope of her nose, in the swing of her walk, or in the quiet way she holds herself when she thinks that no one notices her.
You should know that the times when I can find some part of you in a stranger, a part of me soars, until I realise that it isn't you. I look for you always and I can only find small pale fragments. You should know that there is only one as wondrous as you.
The Man in the Station
You should know that I look for you in crowds and in unlikely places even though I know that you are miles away or even in a different country. I step onto streetcars and escalators expecting to see your smiling face turned toward me or perhaps to catch a glimpse of you as you turn a corner.
I could be standing on a busy street, lost in thought and from the corner of my eye or in the distance a woman, brown curls pulled back tricks me into hoping that it might be you. I look for you in every woman I see - in the shape and colour of her eyes, in the angle of her chin, the slope of her nose, in the swing of her walk, or in the quiet way she holds herself when she thinks that no one notices her.
You should know that the times when I can find some part of you in a stranger, a part of me soars, until I realise that it isn't you. I look for you always and I can only find small pale fragments. You should know that there is only one as wondrous as you.
The Man in the Station
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