Let me just explain…. This is tongue-in-cheek. I am still missing the guy of course. So a funny, sarky, ditty.  It took me two minutes to write. But It’s made me smile today. The last vestiges, the getting it out of my system. Lots of wonderful adventures, fun, and the kindest  people, are helping with the healing. So it’s all good.

“Here for a good time, not a long time” as they say.

Oi, oi… I had just about forgot
Your beautiful silly face
And managed to reverse my heart
At quite a swift old pace.

Packed up those stupid trinkets
While smiling all the time
As I was also drinking
The last of your cheap wine.

 I’m enjoying lovely company
With guys who like me heaps
And some of them so much
They think that I’m for keeps.

Some of them are crazy
But with longer attention spans
And though they have full lives
Want to include me in their plans.

They treat me like I’m precious
And the sex is bloody great
It gets a little dark
Making you look pretty straight.

And then I reached into
The corner of my bag,
I found those damned gig tickets
And resolve did start to flag.

I thought I’d get the gift
Of joining you for Floyd
And now I’m feeling foolish
Which I was hoping to avoid.

But I’m sitting in the venue
The seat beside me bare
Least I’m here with no one
Than with you who didn’t care.

And in the dark I’m hiding
‘Cause I know the songs to come
I’ll be crying in my popcorn
Trying not to be so dumb.

But then the music starts
And I wish I never fell;
I realise when I met you
I should have Run Like Hell.

The Wall



I’m going to miss your lovely face,
While you’re off on your adventures.
But I will wait for you right here,
Even til I may need dentures.

air freshener

I waited a long time, after the end of my engagement. I would wonder frequently at the beginning of my solitude, why he didn’t come to get me. Why he didn’t just stop being silly and come to find me. I only lived a few miles from him when I moved out. And would listen for his car. Not long after we broke up, I would go to the window if I heard a car that may be his (old, convertible classic, distinctive).

I would find myself standing in the shower and realise the bathroom door was closed, would get out of the shower to open it – just in case he chose that moment to knock at the front door – so I could hear it. I would sometimes decide not to have the stereo on during Sunday afternoons at home, for fear of missing his call. And for a few months, I really didn’t understand why he hadn’t come back for me.

Then early one Saturday morning, his car pulled up outside my flat. I looked down on it in the street, from where I was overlooking the village green, eating breakfast.

timeAnd I stopped moving. I sat very still. Just breathing. My heartfelt wish? He was truly just out there. And he sat in his car for 20 minutes. Twice, I could see, he went for the door. Then settled back into the seat. Once he picked up his phone… but didn’t dial. I watched, in that voyeur state for those 20 minutes. Knowing from his body language the feelings he moved through, the different energies; determined, resigned, tensing, collapsing, nervous, sad.

And then his shoulders slumped for a moment. And I watched him take a deep breath. He sat upright, started the car, and began to pull away. He looked up as he moved from the curb, seeing me there sitting at the little cafe table by the window. I like to think the word he mouthed to me, with his slow-smiling, resigned acknowledgement was “sorry”.

And you know, I was ok with that. I watched him go. And knew I would be fine. We met up a week later for a coffee, at his request; laughed and flirted, and secured a semblance of friendship that meant we could both respect each other and importantly ourselves. And we never spoke about that Saturday morning.

I know this sounds like I was delusional, like I had a faith in something that only existed in my imagination. For me, and later in conversation with him, for him too, there was a belief that the very connection that had pulled us together, that had stopped the world so we could meet that first time, was held sacred and important long after we began separate lives. It remains the truest of feelings, and it makes me smile in a soft-focus nostalgic kind of way. He was the first, the only, guy I’ve ever ‘fallen’ in love with. The sadness and wounds are healed, the loss a slight flutter in moments of reminiscing. The rest? A beautiful experience and I wouldn’t have exchanged all that heart-break for the not having felt love in the first place.

lemon icing

A Facebook memory popped up this morning, from a post I shared a few years ago. Much of what Jeff Brown writes resonates with me, though he has a strong belief in an otherworldly external deity. He is still able to capture the human capacity to love and heal in all it’s challenging but beautiful cycles. He wrote this and it was a precious piece to me at the time. Not new understanding for me, the contrary, but a timely reminder that it is rarely our own journey that makes others turn away from the love we have ready to gift. I thought I would share.

“Sometimes people walk away from love because it is so beautiful that it terrifies them. Sometimes they leave because the connection shines a bright light on their dark places and they are not ready to work them through. Sometimes they run away because they are not developmentally prepared to merge with another – they have more individuation work to do first. Sometimes they take off because love is not a priority in their lives – they have another path and purpose to walk first. Sometimes they end it because they prefer a relationship that is more practical than conscious, one that does not threaten the  ways that they organise reality. Because so many of us carry shame, we have a tendency to personalise love’s leavings, triggered by the rejection and feelings of abandonment. But this is not always true. Sometimes it has nothing to do with us. Sometimes the one who leaves is just not ready to hold it safe. Sometimes they know something we don’t – they know their limits at that moment in time. Real love is no easy path – readiness is everything. May we grieve loss without personalising it. May we learn to love ourselves in the absence of the lover.”

– Jeff Brown


Today I am procrastinating, but tomorrow? Oh, tomorrow!

Is it possible, that any action is better than a dis-eased, stagnating, procrastination? The choice of transit over inertia, of impulse in order to distract us from our paralysing vulnerabilities. Are animation and engagement as vital as the end result, wherever they take us? More so? Embracing movement… and the doing… become habitual drivers forward, a process of healing in itself. Even in place of unlayering and self-discovery – delayed when we are not ready. If nothing else, in these brief moments of change, we gift ourselves energy.

The ways in which we respond to fraught, sad, or unexpected outcomes, reflect who we are at our most basic. Victim or victorious. And sometimes, the moving forward, without thinking of what the journey may look like, is all that we can do.