JQ

A short & one sided conversation

2011-10-11T13:28:00.002+11:00

Are you there? Can you hear me? Can you hear my heart? Can you hear itbreaking, straining under the pressure, cracking like ice. Will you stop? Willyou listen? For just a moment, while I unload my burdens. They are not specialor particularly gruesome but they are mine and they are weighing me down quitea bit. If you could just carry them for a second, for a little while; for me.If I needed saving would you help me? Can you save me? Do you have what I need?Do I? Does my salvation lie within or without...you?

I should be writing

2011-09-16T17:04:00.001+10:00

I should be writing now. That's what I think to myself. When I'm hanging around at home or at work with nothing much to do. In the evenings when the house is quiet and there's nothing good on TV. I should be writing, something brilliant and inspiring that people will read and then talk about amongst themselves. Something that will capture their attention. But there's nothing in my head. At least nothing worth writing about.

I stare at a blank screen waiting for the words to find me. But there are no words, no dreams, no silly fantasies. My head used to be filled with them. But not now.

Now when I have all the time in the world, when I have more free time then I know what to do with -there's nothing.

I used to have so much to say, so many words. But now I've lost them and I don't know how to get them back. The feeling of pen gliding across a fresh page, of finding exactly the right word to express an idea or convey a message, there's nothing like it.

The few meager words I manage to conjure up now seem... silly, inconsequential. My words used to have weight and depth. Now they are as irrelevant as yesterday's dinner.

Once upon a time the voice inside my head was clear and pure and all my own. But now? Now it feels forced, foreign, tainted by the effort of trying to write for others instead of just writing for myself.

Back when I could write nobody ever read my stuff because I didn't want them to. Now I can't write and I wish I could so that someone could read it and say 'my god, that's brilliant, you have so much talent.'

But I have no words and therefore no talent. And because I feel I have no talent I have even less words. And so the whole thing goes round and round but doesn't do me one damn bit of good.

I should really stop whinging. Stop feeling sorry for myself. I don't have time for such self indulgence. I'm wasting precious time and I should really be writing.

A brief work of fiction

2011-09-08T22:08:00.001+10:00

A women enters an upscale lounge bar and approaches her companion, they are not strangers but nor are they old friends. The man is young, ruggedly sexy although not classically handsome. The woman is slightly older and carries with her an air of confidence that further enhances her striking beauty. When he spots her walking towards him the man smiles, rises from his seat at the bar and greets her warmly. She takes a seat next to him, her body slightly turned away, watching him like a cat with a mouse, a hidden smile playing on her lips. He buys himself another drink and one for her also, knowing her enough to order for her without asking what she wants. She does not speak but rather waits for him to make the first move. 'I'm glad you agreed to meet me' he says as the bartender places their drinks in front of them, the ice clinking softly against the side of the glass. 'And why wouldn't I?' she replies her voice low and seductive, one eyebrow raised just so. A flash of guilt ripples across his face and he takes sip of his drink. 'I wanted the chance to say goodbye in person, I figured at the very least, after everything, I owe you that.' He braces himself for tears and anger but to his surprise the woman smiles broadly and turns towards him. 'My darling' she coos ' I have been beaten, broken, humiliated and demoralised by men far more important then you. Amongst the many heartbreaks I've had to endure this doesn't even rate a mention.' The man recoils as if she's struck him and the woman laughs, a soft, tinkling, knowing laugh. 'Don't look so hurt my darling, for you I was just another conquest, for me you where a very pleasant distraction. We both got what we wanted, we both learnt a thing or two, and no one got hurt.' The man is surprised to feel sadness welling up in his throat for even though their affair was brief he sees, only now at the final curtain call that him will be remembered this incredible women before him long after she has gone from his sight. She stands, 'thanks for the drink' she says downing it in one and leans over to kiss his cheek. 'I hope it all works out for you and ...’ She stumbles on her words slightly, one small sign of human weakness. But she regains her composure quickly and he deliberately doesn’t call her on it. ‘Well, if you're ever back this way again feel free to look me up. I've still got a few more tricks I could teach you' she says giving him a playful nudge. And then with one last, breathtaking smile and a flamboyant toss of her hair she is gone; as suddenly and as earth shatteringly unexpected as when she first entered his life. The man smiles to himself and takes one last sip of his drink; his groin stirs at the memory of their love making. 'Damn she was good' he muses before bending down to retrieve his bag 'as long as he lives, there will never be another like her.'

The traveling sun

2011-08-14T19:50:00.001+10:00

Honeyed sun, warm and thick

The endless landscape spread out before me

Moving forward, moving on

Travelling further into the great wide unknown

The joy of having space to think

Or to not think

The choice to lose myself or to find myself

To be untethered from all things

This is freedom

This is hope

This is everything

My restless heart

2011-08-01T23:23:00.000+10:00

The rain falls silently outside my window as I go about the mundane tasks of keeping up appearances. It quietens my restless heart, washes away my sins, eases the pain; if only for today. Beneath the layers of sadness, a glimmer of hope; for if the rain can bring new life to the earth then perhaps it can do the same for me. I lied to you my darling, I promised you for better or for worse, when what I really meant was until it gets too hard. I have tried to forget the hurtful words, the look of scorn on your face as you tried to destroy me. When did we become enemies? When did we become strangers? I wish I knew the moment when we crossed the line from in trouble to broken beyond repair. Maybe then I could turn back time and find a way to fix us. I don't know what to do my love. I can't repair the damage and I can't let go. Can we go back to the way it once was, when we were happy, when we lived the lie that we would be together forever. I think in my heart I always knew that it would come to this eventually. I just didn't expect it to be so soon or to hurt quiet so much. Am I a bad person for wanting more then what you can give me? Am I a failure because I couldn't make this work? I know it is hopeless, we are a lost cause, and yet... and yet I still cannot find the words to end the life we have built together. If it hurts so much, if it's really all done and dusted, if there is no chance of a happy ending, then why stay? Once I stayed because I loved you; once I stayed because I was afraid of you. Now I have no reason left to stay, no more excuses I can make, and yet I am still here. If you love me, if you still care for me, set me free, set us both free.

Amelia's

2011-07-24T20:22:00.001+10:00

John pulls off the highway and into the parking lot of the roadside diner. He pushes open the door and takes a seat at one of the booths by the front window. A grisly looking waitress comes and hands him a menu before moving on to the next customer without speaking. As he watches her move down the aisle he is reminded of another waitress, another diner.

Back then John had walked into her diner on a whim and as far as inner city diners go it was one of the better ones. The counter was immaculately clean, the food good, the service – the best he’d ever had. He’d eased himself into one of the chairs at the far end of the counter; at the other end, closest to the kitchen sat three or four older gentlemen drinking coffee and chatting quietly. Other than that the place was empty – too early for lunch, too late for breakfast but he was still on a different time zone. The waitress bustled over to him, young, pretty and eager to please.

“Good morning, sir, have a look at the menu, I’ll be with you in a sec.”

Those were the first words she ever spoke to him; he remembers it now as if it happened yesterday, not thirty odd years ago. Too busy watching her out of the corner of his eye, John had not so much as glanced at the menu by the time she returned.

“What’s good here?” he asked her in order to buy more time.

She smiled at him warmly, “everything’s good here, sir,” she answered proudly.

“Tell you what, why don’t you pick something for me.”

The girl had paused, as if trying to divine what he might like. Finally she gave a little nod, wrote something on her pad and sashayed away. She spoke briefly to the cook, Tommy his name was, as John would later discover. In all his time at the diner John never saw or heard Tommy except for that one, muscular, tattoo covered arm passing plates to the waitresses and ringing the bell for service.

John orders and waits for his meal to arrive; when it does as always he is disappointed and wishes he’d ordered something else. But on that sunny autumn day when she presented him with a steak sandwich and coke it was somehow exactly what he felt like. He tucked into his meal with gusto, tipped heavily and left her diner feeling content. What was her name? Anna, no that’s what her name tag said but her real name was something else, something more exotic. Annabelle, Isabelle, Amelia – that’s it, yes, Amelia. John remembers her now with a tug of his heart.

Today John picks at his meal, leaves most of it, tips only enough so as not to be rude and continues on his way. He is days into a cross country trip to visit his son and meet his new grandchild. His son, Jim, had offered to pay for his flights but he’d declined, happy to take this opportunity to revisit his old stomping ground on route to his final destination. The day that John entered Amelia’s diner he had just been promoted to Regional Manger (Southern Division), the youngest person in the company’s history to take up the position. He’d been in his late twenties, still full of vigour and ambition but with enough maturity to know how to handle himself in most situations. His job entailed travelling to the various regional sites under his jurisdiction to oversee operations, sort out any problems and generally ensure that everything was running as it should be. Amelia’s diner, he’s forgotten the name, was in Houston which was where his company’s regional headquarters were located. That day stifled by his lingering jetlag and unaccustomed to the heat it had looked like a cool oasis amid the chaos of the city.

The second time he went to Amelia’s, as he came to think of it, was in the evening on his way home from work. It had been a long exhausting day and all he wanted was a quiet meal before he turned in for the night.

“Hello again, sir,” came her greeting as he took the same seat at the counter that he’d sat in a few days earlier.

Her uniform was a pale ‘baby blue’, the same colour as the menus and complimented her olive skin and liquorice hair. The top button was missing, revealing a hint of her ample cleavage and black lacy bra. The diner was busier on this occasion and as he waited his turn he overheard her conversation with one of the elderly gentlemen at the other end of the counter. These men, interchangeable in John’s mind, were Amelia’s ‘regulars’. They came back time and again for the same reason John did, to eat a good, reasonably priced meal and to be fussed over by the beautiful young waitress with the happy smile.

“Mr Lewis, you know you can’t have bacon” she chided “your son and I spoke on the phone at length and he was quite insistent that I make sure you stick to your diet.”

“Damn it girl, I’m going to die soon anyway, can’t a man enjoy his final days in peace.”

Amelia had stood, hands on hips and sighed heavily. “Fine I’ll ask Tommy to put bacon on your burger but you have to promise me you’ll eat all your salad.”

“Sorry for the delay” she said when she’d finally gotten to John. “Do you know what you’d like?”

“You choose” John had replied, giving her his most charming smile.

Once again she had paused to regard him before writing something on her order pad and moving on to serve the next customer.

That night she’d given him steak ‘n’ ale pie with mashed potatoes and gravy, hearty comfort food that was easy to eat. Exactly what he felt like but would never have thought to order for himself. John had lingered over his meal hoping to speak to her again but a large group of college aged men had come in and sat at one of the booths, they’re catcalling and constant demands taking up much of her attention. Such was her nature to be friendly and accommodating to everyone.

“See you next time,” she’s said, smiling as she cleared his plate and wiped the counter. It had made him feel special – silly in hindsight given that she spoke to all her customers in the same manner.

The third time he went to Amelia’s it was early in the morning, on his way to work. He was sick of eating cereal and toast alone in his room and for once he didn’t have any meetings until later in the day.

“Morning sir would you like to look at the menu or should I just order for you,” she’d said in a tone that sounded teasing but could simply have been taken as her usual helpful, cheery service.

“Whatever you recommend will be fine” he’d replied flirting mildly.

Instead of the greasy fry up he’d been expecting, she returned with a plate of blueberry pancakes. John hadn’t had pancakes, blueberry or otherwise since the last time he visited his mother. To the credit of whoever made them they were as good, if not better, than his mother’s and he ate them with childish glee and lashings of syrup.

“Sir, you forgot your change” Amelia had said to him later, catching him just at the door as he was on his way out. John had left a $50 note tucked underneath his plate to pay for his $8 breakfast.

“You keep it.”

“Sir that’s far too much, I couldn’t possibly” she’d protested.

John was impressed by her integrity. “Its fine,” he’d reassured her, closing her delicate hand around the money, his bright blue eyes making contact with her deep golden ones. “I forgot to leave you a tip last time and I’ve felt bad about it ever since.”

The fourth time John knew for certain that it wasn’t a fluke; Amelia had a gift for knowing exactly what a person wanted, or in some cases needed. John had entered the diner at the height of the lunch rush, there were no seats available at the counter but he was in a hurry anyway and stood by the register waiting impatiently to place his order. Amelia was walking by on the way back to the kitchen, a full plate of food in her hand.

She looked up and smiled and perhaps sensing his urgency she turned to him and said “I just accidentally ordered another customer a roast beef sandwich instead of a corned beef sandwich, would you like it, it hasn’t been touched.”

“Can I get it to go?”

“Of course sir, just give me a sec.”

John had tried to pay for the sandwich. Amelia had politely but firmly refused.

When John returned to his office his boss was already waiting for him, today was one of his not so surprise – surprise inspections.

“Mr Stanley! Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“No bother I was just catching up on some paper work.”

“How was your flight sir?”

“Fine enough, except the food was rubbish.”

“Would you like some of my lunch?” John said, offering him half of his sandwich.

Mr Stanley had taken a large bite and closed his eyes in obvious bliss. “Good lord boy” he exclaimed “I haven’t had a roast beef sandwich in ages, mmmnn hot mustard, just the way I like it. I always knew you where a man after my own heart.” After that the inspection had been a breeze and John had received nothing but praise from a man well known for never praising anyone.

John stops driving for the night, taking a room at a clean, nondescript motel in a nondescript town off the highway. As he showers and gets ready for bed his mind once again wanders back to thoughts of Amelia, the beautiful girl with Spanish/ American heritage that he knew for only a relatively short time but has never been able to forget. To this day the smell of Apple Pie reminds him of her.

The fifth time he went to her diner his feet carried him there of their own accord. It was late, just on closing time and he was not keen on returning to his cold lonely bed. Without asking she placed a slice of pie and a mug of steaming cup of coffee in front of him moments after he’d slide into his seat. “You look like you need this” she’d said by way of explanation. John savoured the dessert as he watched her bustle to and fro as she went about the task of closing up for the evening.

“You’re always here” he’d said almost to himself.

Amelia shrugged “unlike the others I don’t have a family; they know I’m available to fill in any shift and they take advantage of it.”

“Don’t you mind?”

Amelia had shrugged again “no I need the money.”

“You’re not from around here,” he’d commented, because of her exotic almost musical accent.

“Neither are you” she’d replied with a smile.

“Where are you from?”

“Here and there; and you?”

“New York and before that Boston.”

“Would you like another coffee sir?”

“You can call me John, if you like.”

Amelia had smiled shyly and nodded as she refilled his cup. “It suits you, strong, dependable, and not too fancy.”

“Anna doesn’t suit you,” John had replied and that’s when she’d explained that her boss thought Amelia was too ‘ethnic’. Plus he was too cheap to buy her a new name tag and as he already had an Anna name tag in his draw Anna was who she became, although as he recalls none of her regulars or John ever called her that.

John had stayed that night until well after closing time, chatting to her as she wiped down the counter and tables and washed the floor. At last she’d gathered her coat and made to leave.

As John stood up and put on his own coat he said on impulse, “would you like to share a taxi?”

Amelia gave a small shake of her head, a strand of hair working its way loose from the messy bun she always wore.

Later, on another evening John would brush out her silky, perfumed hair with his fingers before making love to her on the cheaply carpeted floor of his tiny lounge room.

John didn’t go back to the diner for a while after that, not by design but because his job meant frequent travel and he lived most of that period of his life out of a suitcase. The company provided him with a small, Spartan apartment close to his office in Houston but he was hardly ever there and it never felt any different from the forgettable hotel rooms he frequented. He also still had an apartment back in New York City but on each return trip it felt less and less like home.

One evening the city having been caught in an unexpected cold snap he stumbled into the diner unconsciously seeking out warmth and comfort only to discover that Amelia was not there. He could have stayed but somehow without her it wasn’t the same. Instead he had gone further down the block and had a counter meal at a pub while he watched the football.

The next time he did see Amelia it was well into winter, she gave him Minestrone soup with a crusty bread roll and it was so good he ended up having three helpings, although as he recalls she only ever charged him for one. To this day John has no idea whether Amelia could so much as boil an egg but as she was the one that always brought him his food in his mind he associates the excellent cooking with her.

“That’s a nice watch” she’d said as he’d paid at the register that night,

“Thank you it was a birthday present from my wife” he’d responded.

That was one of only a handful of times either of them ever spoke of his wife who had decided to remain in New York with her friends and her charity work. John was Regional Manager for just over three years, and during that time, apart from the endless travel and the daily grind of work Amelia was the one constant in his life. They spoke often of his work, the weather, current events, books, movies, her regulars but only occasionally touched on more private matters; like his six year marriage to a women who had long since grown cold and distant.

By the time he and Amelia consummated their relationship Laura was more interested in her year end projections and her various social commitments then John’s affections. Or the fact that on his own, in a strange city he was desperately lonely and dissatisfied; he’d worked so hard to climb the corporate ladder but the top was not as rosy as it had once seemed.

John rises early the next morning, keen to be on his way. As the miles tick over and the sun moistens his brow he is reminded of Amelia’s lips. How they tasted spicy when he kissed her and the fact that no matter the time of day or the strains of her job she always smiled.

John had been in Houston nearly six months when he and Amelia finally moved beyond a strictly platonic relationship. It was just on spring; he was once again the last customer and outside it was raining heavily. This time when John offered her a lift Amelia accepted without hesitation. And when John helped her into the taxi and put his arm around her shoulder she did not protest or pull away. She leaned against him and he kissed the top of her head breathing in her sweet, fresh perfume. They stopped outside her apartment complex; she thanked him profusely but did not invite him in. The rain had temporarily stopped and at the last minute she turned back and kissed him deeply through the open window of the taxi. John never did see the inside of her apartment, on the occasions they were together it was always at his place and somehow he had sensed that this was a barrier she would not cross.

It was a week later that the inevitable finally happened. Amelia for once had finished work early and John who was himself on his way home from work had run into her as she was leaving the diner. She was dressed in her street clothes and on impulse he invited her for a drink. They walked down the street for several blocks and found an inviting little café. They sat out on the sidewalk drinking wine and talking. Drinks soon turned into dinner and as they watched the sunset over coffee John had reached out and taken her hand. Afterwards as they stood together on the street in the warm night air it felt like the most natural thing in the world for John to take her in his arms and kiss her. Kissing quickly became petting and after a quick taxi ride back to his place they were together at last.

John had dreamt of this moment but it was better than he could possibly have imagined. He could barely contain his excitement long enough to undress. Amelia was so warm, so eager, so inviting; so different. Unrestrained, adventurous and both compliant and demanding in equal measure. John did not know if she had been with a man before him, she was young, no more than twenty he had guessed, but she never said anything and he never asked and together in the dark it mattered not one bit wether he was her first or her hundredth. As their relationship continued she would go on to be both student and teacher.

For John being with Amelia was not just about sexual gratification, although it was one of her many treasures; all those happy hours spent in bed, Amelia’s body entwined with his.

Amelia reignited the fire in John’s belly and made him push himself to take on new challenges. Sadly it was this new found ambition that would eventually lead to the end of their relationship.

Towards the end of John’s third year his superiors where looking around for someone to take over an important senior management role back in New York and John’s proven track record, good reputation and the fact that he was already a New Yorker made him the obvious choice for the promotion. John was conflicted when he received the news, the role would mean a much bigger salary, less travel, bigger perks and more power. But it would also mean saying goodbye to the best thing in his life and returning to New York and his unhappy marriage.

Telling Amelia of his impending departure was one of the hardest conversations John has ever had to have, the memory of her sad but resolute expression still stabs at his conscience. He had floated the idea of Amelia coming with him, the possibility of her own apartment and perhaps eventually a quiet divorce from his wife. But for reasons known only to her, she declined.

When John eventually returned to New York for good he thought of her every day, pining for her for months afterwards. John and Laura continued on in their same polite dance neither one willing to acknowledge the truth about their marriage.

Laura had been no angel whilst John was gone, many times on his trips home he would smell the scent of another man on his sheets or come across an item of clothing in his wardrobe that was not his. But for a while at least his new found stature seemed to reignite some of his wife’s previous passion which resulted in Laura becoming pregnant. Life took over, John became increasingly busy and Amelia became a distant memory, something to be taken out and enjoyed on lonely nights.

As John finishes another dissatisfying meal in another roadside diner he amuses himself with thoughts of making a detour via Houston, to see if Amelia is still there waiting for him in her diner. But for all he knows she’s long gone, married to someone else perhaps, and in the end he would rather not mar her memory with the harshness of reality. But forevermore he will remember her as his beautiful secret, his one dalliance with love and passion. The one bright spark of colour in his otherwise pleasant but predictable existence.

In Secret

2011-07-14T21:53:00.000+10:00

I love you... in secret
In the quiet corners of my heart
Where the darkness can't reach
Where a little light of hope still glows
That is where my love grows

Bittersweet Memories

2011-07-08T20:07:00.000+10:00

I will think of you in quiet moments, in secret, hidden places within my heart and between the lines of every page.

I will think of you, your name whispered on the lips of others, your smell carried on the wind, your face a picture in my mind.

I will think of you in the midnight hour, as the sun meets the sky or in the late afternoon when my eyes are heavy and my defences weakened.

I will think of you not as you are now but as you were back then, when we were together, when we were happy.
I will think of you sometimes fondly, sometimes with sadness, sometimes in anger; the laughter and tears, the good and the bad.
I will think of you because I am still searching for answers, the whys and why nots that make my heart heavy with loss.
I will think of you, still on this earth but no longer mine; we where meant to have forever but life it seems had other plans.
I will think of you and hope that where ever you are now you are happy, as am I. But in quiet moments I will still think of you and sigh to myself 'if only...'

Little Lina Loo

2011-07-05T18:30:00.000+10:00

Little Lina Loo

I see you

Jumping on the bed

Little Lina Loo

I see you

Standing on your head

Little Lina Loo

I see you

Hiding from your mum

Little Lina Loo

I see you

Sucking on your thumb

Little Lina Loo

I see you

Playing with your ball

Little Lina Loo

I see you

Running down the hall

Little Lina Loo

I see you

Eating all your tea

Little Lina Loo

I see you

Smiling back at me

Little Lina Loo

I see you

Cuddling with your dad

Little Lina Loo

I see you

What a busy day you’ve had

Little Lina Loo

I see you

Going off to sleep

Little Lina Loo

I see you

Not another peep

Little Lina Loo

I see you

Such a funny little kid

Little Lina Loo

I see you

Dreaming of all you did

The Price of Love

2011-07-04T18:34:00.000+10:00

Today I watched you; eating strawberries in the warm summer sun, the juice ran down your hands. I was transfixed by your lips, I dreamt about what they must taste like.
Today I watched you; laughing, golden enchantress, how you have stolen my heart. I give it to you gladly but I beg of you, take care not to break it; it’s the only one I have.
Today I watched you; your shoes old, your coat worn, your multi-coloured jewels fake. If you were mine you would have only the finest things to adorn yourself with.
Today I watched you; sitting, watching, waiting, nervously playing with your hair. Such heavenly treacle coloured curls have surely been hand painted by angels.
Today I watched you; but only in my mind, where have you gone my one and only? Too long has it been since I last saw you, come back I shout, if only you could hear me.
Today I watched you; as tears ran down your face. Tell me my love, what beast has filled your brown eyes with liquid pain; tell me and I will be your dragon slayer.
Today I watched you; he kissed your neck, your hands, your eyelashes and whispered sweet nothings meant only for two. But my darling his love is cheap and unworthy.
Today I watched you; cowering in fear; you shouldn’t have betrayed me my love. It tore me apart to do it; but if I cannot not have you then no one can.
Today I watched you; as they punished me for what I did. They called me a monster, the devil, a freak, but it’s a fine line between love and insanity.
Today I watched you; no more. Never again will I gaze upon your face, the sky or anything else. I guess that’s the price I must pay for loving someone too much.

Midnight Lover

2011-07-03T20:24:00.000+10:00

The first night my midnight lover came to me I was scared. He appeared suddenly out of the darkness and sat down beside me as I watched the waves roll in from the back deck of my modest beach side cottage. My heart hammered in my chest as I watched him ease himself into the vacant deckchair beside me. The night was dark that evening but from the small amount of light coming from inside the house I was able to just make out his handsome, weather beaten face and strong, muscular form. I could not make out the finer details of his features but at that point it mattered little as I was more concerned with whether or not he posed a danger to me. I sensed more then saw him smiling at me. ‘Don’t mind if I rest my feet for a minute do you’ he drawled and his voice was warm, friendly and so deliciously male. He eased back further into the chair, stretching his arms up behind his head as he looked out to sea. We sat like that for some twenty minutes or so, him watching the water, me holding my breath as I watched him from the corner of my eye. And then just as suddenly he stood, tipped an imaginary hat, as if to thank me for my hospitality and disappeared back into the darkness.

It was a week or so later that he appeared again in much the same fashion as last time, the only difference was that on this particular evening there was a chill in the air and because of this I had lit a fire. It popped and crackled at my feet sending sparks up into the night sky. I was distracted, my mind far away on other distant shores. And then, there he was. I could see him better this time and because of this it made me less afraid. Boldly I offered him a glass of wine and with a smile he accepted. We did not speak after that but sat in companionable silence watching the flames and listening to the sounds of the ocean. The effect was slightly hypnotic and I lost all sense of time. I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes he was watching me intently. I blushed and smiled shyly and he must have taken that as a sign of my acceptance because he leaned over and kissed me. I had no history with this man, not even his name but to date it is the best kiss I’ve ever had. Warm and tender, urgent and sexy, new and yet somehow familiar. The instant his lips touched mine I felt a jolt of lust shoot through my body, awakening my senses, making my inner lioness purr. I was shocked by my own eagerness, by the way my body yielded to him so willingly whilst my mind lagged behind. Perhaps he sensed my hesitation because he did not take things further, when the kiss came to its natural conclusion he stood and left, smiling at me over his shoulder as the darkness swallowed him up.

A few nights later as I lay dozing in my bed, the air steamy and tropical, the breeze delicious against my skin he appeared once more. At first I thought I was dreaming but he was no mirage, he was very much real as he sat perched on the end of my bed. ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked softly, still half asleep. ‘Your siren song called to me.’ ‘But how did you get in?’ ‘You left the door open for me.’ He smiled a sexy, devilish smile that turned my insides to molten lava. ‘What do you want’ I asked my voice now husky with lust. ‘You’ve got this all wrong, it’s not about what I want, it’s about what you want.’ I sat up and crawled to the end of the bed, crouching beside him as I tentatively kissed the corner of his mouth; he tasted of salt and sweat and male pheromones. His hand brushed my leg and my kisses grew bolder. Slowly I drew him down on top of me suddenly desperate to feel the weight of a man pressed against me. His arms encircled me, his mouth consumed me; never had I been made love to so thoroughly, so passionately, so brazenly. At one point I couldn’t tell where he finished and I began.

I have had a few lovers in my time, not as many as some but enough to know good from bad, and he was most definitely at the top end of the scale. This did not surprise me; no, such a confident swagger could only belong to a man who is sure of himself, of his talents as it were. What surprised me was my reaction to him. I am not what one would describe as a sex kitten. Cute yes, attractive possibly, but sexy – hardly. I have no more the ability or self confidence to seduce a man as I have the ability to fly. And yet here was a man, a man so intoxicated by my spell, so desperate to have me that he broke into my house. A man I might add, I would have considered so far out of my league that the idea, if presented to me, would have been laughable.

I woke to the brightness of a fresh summer’s day, the waves thumping in the distance, whipped into a frenzy by last night’s storm. I felt a shift, a change within. This man, my midnight lover had opened the door to a part of myself I had not known existed.

The following night he returned, as he did ever night for nearly a month. No invitation, no pre-planning, he just showed up, as if I conjured him into being. No past and no future; no details and no talking beyond a few basic pleasantries and our muffled cries of pleasure. I learnt, explored, yielded, broke and was rebuilt. Newer, stronger, forever changed by him. The anonymity gave me the courage, the freedom to do things I never would have attempted within the confines of a proper relationship. I felt liberated, loved, adored, wanted. Without my asking he gave me exactly what I needed in order to move forward, to become the women I had long desired to be.

One night after making love, earth shattering, core shaking love – I wept in his arms. He did not seek an explanation nor did I offer one. He lay beside me, kissing my skin and stroking my hair as I pored out years of pent up frustration. Every past hurt, every disappointment, every feeling of inadequacy was laid down at his feet. When my tears subsided, he rolled over, lifting his magnificent frame up so that I fell under his warm but intense gaze. He looked deep into my soul, smiled and then kissed me so softly, so sweetly. As if to say ‘yes, you were hurt, but that is done now.'

After that our love making began to change, I laughed more, became increasingly confident; stretched and grew in the light that followed the darkness. Where as I had always been somewhat of a Miss Average, the girl you choose when the one you want is taken, now I found men openly eyeing me up on the street. They flirted with me, flocked to me, in bars, in restaurants, on the beach, at the park, in line at the grocery store. Old acquaintances and strangers alike – more male attention, more delicious possibilities then I knew what to do with.

One particular morning as I strolled down the main road on the way to getting myself something tasty for breakfast, I spotted myself in reflection of a shop window. Who was this person, the girl with the sparkle in her eye and the confident swagger, the swagger I stole from my midnight lover. At some point without realising I must have begun to dress differently because as I looked upon myself I saw that gone where the ‘nice’, presentable but rather drab attire I once favoured. Now there was colour, there was flesh, there was sex appeal and curves I had not known existed. My hair no longer wanted to stay in its practical ponytail, of its own accord it had freed itself and now hung in luscious waves. My cheeks were rosy, my skin tanned, my stomach smooth. I looked for a fault, a flaw, an imperfection; the women that had been rejected by the man she loved more then any other. She simply no longer existed – she had been replaced, repainted, reinvented.

The next night with my midnight lover would be our last, this was my graduation ceremony; no longer was I the shy student. Two, three times we made love, and each time it was he who was left gasping for breath, begging for mercy. In our time together he had taught me all he could, given me what I needed; healed what had been broken. No more could I learn from him, gain from him, take from him. In the dawn light I walked him to my back door. With a smile and a wave, with one final breath taking kiss, I let him go. Free to walk on into a new day.

Later that same week I met a man, I like him a lot, and for once I am sure he feels the same – why wouldn’t he? We’ve been dating for several weeks now; he is very attentive and persistent in his pursuit of me. He has to be, because as he says, why risk giving his competition room to get a look in. We haven’t slept together yet – but boy when we do…

The Darkness

2011-07-01T22:40:00.000+10:00

It’s always there, in the back of my mind, hiding, waiting, watching.

For a moment, for a sign, for a dent in my armour.

And then it’s creeping up, sliding under my skin, wrapping its claws around me.

Welcoming me back into its toxic embrace.

It’s so quiet here.

I can’t see, can’t hear, can’t move, can’t breathe.

I don’t eat or sleep or care or feel - anything.

Nothing gets through - I’m in a blackout.

It’s slowly suffocating me.

Cutting me off from all my defences, engulfing me in its sweet oblivion.

Makes me so weak, so numb, so dark.

Dark heart, dark eyes, dark soul – there’s no light inside me anymore.

Onwards, through the dark, through the night, through the pain.

How many times can I fight?

How many times can I win? In the end it always wins.

How many nights must I sleep with one eye open, haunted by its shadow.

All it takes is one slip, one faltering moment.

A tiny crack, a speck of doubt, a drop of blood in the water.

And its back and I’m falling – endlessly.

Down into the hole, into the dark, into hell on earth.

Haven’t I done enough?

Haven’t I suffered enough?

I’ve given it everything it’s asked for and still it bays for more.

I am, as ever, its loyal servant.

But I beg you,

Lift this burden from my shoulders.

For a minute, for a second,

So I can catch my breath, find my way, see the light.

I’m drowning and I can’t swim,

I’m choking and I can’t breath,

I’m falling and I can’t stop.

Can’t fight, can’t surrender, can’t live like this anymore.

Try, try harder, try again, dig deeper, find more.

More strength or more darkness?

Don’t give up; get up, stand up, stand tall,

Push back, push harder, keep going.

Scream, cry, beg, bend, break, bleed

Whatever it takes - just don’t ever stop;

Don’t stop, don’t stand still, don’t be alone,

Don’t let your mind wander; don’t leave your heart unguarded.

Because that’s all it needs to return.

And as sure as the sun rises it will return.

It’s coming, can’t you hear it?

It stalks you, hunts you, haunts you.

It smells your desperation,

Drinks from the well of your pain,

Feeds on your suffering.

Forevermore you’ll be tainted by it.

I’m so tiered, so sick, so cold, so down and out.

I’m so alone! So what? Who cares?

Nobody cares; nobody’s coming to save you,

No one can even hear you.

I’m just one person,

Trying to stand up against the tide

To fight against darkness

The darkness that rages within

Drip, drip, drip, it seeps in

Into my lungs, into my bones, into my heart,

Into my very being.

It fills me up.

No room left,

For joy, for light, for air, for life. Or love,

Love is not the answer,

Love will not save you.

There is no answer,

No cure, no relief.

Only darkness,

And nothing can survive without light.