It petrifies me to think that we’ll end up like that, someday

Where all the things that needed to be said, have all been said away

With only our presence together to confirm for us our youth

All withered away, a love too long now in the tooth

~

I’ve seen them many times, scattered around this world as witnessed through these eyes

Couples who have since merged their freedoms into the one single, common life

It’s often made me wonder whether this step is an inevitable conclusion

To the days of long ago of an inescapable flirtatious delusion

~

I know though through my entire essence that that is not how we will be

Nor will the laughter and joy we sound out turn into a silent meaninglessness easily

And so all those couples’ faces –  blank but with an alleged love for which I have disputed

Will remind me to announce loudly and constantly that “My love for you will never be muted”

~

~

Copyrighted Image, Pam O’Connell: The Silent Couple

~

It’s the fear of seeing my old self

Complete with old ways, thoughts and habits

Taking over my consciousness and current existence of being

Causing me to resort, too easily, to a familiar self-destruction

~

This demon sees straight through my soul

Picking out casually like grapes my deepest and darkest fears

Exposing my weaknesses to me, displaying them with pride

Showing me the quickest and easiest solutions to all that I deny

~

I no longer see myself through my own eyes

But rather through those old ones back from some youthful place

The choices I have are those available to that lost and frightened child

An offered hand of love concealing an irreparably damaging knife

~

But I stare back at him today, reigning myself back in

I am not helpless nor prone, and he cannot frighten me

For I have changed since those days when he came to visit me those times

For I am older now, and have learnt of my own braveness to fight

~

Who I was then will not now dictate who I am now

Even if this old version of me insists he will still hang around:

He will serve usefully as a reminder of all I have lost

As well as all the wonderful things that I have since then found

~

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~

I am a best man, an old friend, even a husband

For those who need that special someone

I never judge their motives nor their reasons

I am happy to put on that predefined face

~

For friendship isn’t just a case of reciprocity

Neither is it a process of bartering

It’s a sense of security that you feel when it’s there

A loss all too revealing of oneself when not

~

Family then is a different thing altogether

A knowledge of a comfortable home and a formal awkwardness

Where things that need to be said often never are

A festering buildup of internal disciplined frustrations

~

It’s often too uncomfortable, isn’t it?

To have society and friends and family on your back

That’s why I offer you my shell

To shield you from the strain

~

So call me Bob or Jack or William

I’ll be whoever it is you need

My going rate is fairly reasonable, I think

Allowing you to focus on only who you want to be

An accompaniment to the short story of Richmal Oates-Whitehead

What if it was just that one little thread

Which meant the difference between him going to her instead of me

What if it actually never happened

Existing only as another ‘what might have been’

~

What if I were to weave this thread in my tale

Diverting it into a vacant and adjacent stitch of fate

For me that’d be a far more refined resolution

Than the tears that run down when all is too late

~

Copyrighted image belongs to Sharon Smith (portfolio)