The still dark of midwinter is still upon us. Still pitch. Still black as your hat. He has gone out into it. I have returned from it. It feels like it will swallow me up sometimes. The day is done. It is over for another year. There is always this anti-climax even if not much is done. The expectations are too high. What will change? we ask and the answer is little. We went to church. I’d expected crowds there weren’t any. Just a smattering of people sitting at odd pews, at a distance from each other. I was glad we went. As was he. He sang lustily, as his wont and I felt his pride, his quiet pleasure at being there in his boyhood church where he’d sang as a child. The service was bilingual, an odd thing, it tried one’s patience and my mind wandered. The church looked splendid, such crisp white-washed walls and elegant wooden ceiling.
We walked there and back which was nice, arm in arm. It is enough such belonging. This hasn’t been a towering life, or even a particularly big one, I haven’t touched that many people, made that much of a difference, if any, but to have found this man, this man so prepared to open himself to me and love, is enough.
I dreamt I was travelling on the top deck of a bus. I was up there with a man. I think we had been intimate though were still a little shy of each other. We filled the whole space. I had all my things there. I needed to remember my stop, and looked out of the window. There it was. I called out to the man, its my stop, get the driver to stop. But the bus kept on going, then I realised that it was a Sunday and where I wanted to get off, including a group of shops and somewhere I could find sustenance, would be shut. The driver was clearly moving on to the next stop. I tried to get my shoes on in readiness. My hands wouldn’t work properly. I was all ham-fisted. They were a kind of sandal, or espadrille. And then I began to embrace the man as a leave-taking. I felt the strength of his back and kissed him. All the while I was edgy about getting off the bus before I missed the stop. Then I woke.
Sometimes I write such garbled stuff but I don’t want to edit it too much. This is my indulgence, this page, my splurging. People say they read it. It would be nice if they did but I don’t expect them to. What was it I quoted yesterday, you write to find out what you think? Or was it know? Either way it is a getting it down so that one can see it clearly. So be it. I hope your post-Christmas anti-climax isn’t too uncomfortable. Rest. Be at ease. Enjoy the details today, I certainly shall. Now tea.