Drift into non-existence. It is so much easier to breathe lightly then to confirm to passers by that life sustains you. Vaporised chemicals run through your endorsed body of lift me ups: I carry the burden of hope heavily. Bash a few words and permeate a bleak sentiment into drifting tranquillity that ceases to be. This is my six by four abode. The heavy duvet shrouds precious ivory that has failed to be dug and auctioned. Lifelines die away into emptiness and flower petals have dried in the Siberian daylight.
After dinner will life recommence, after waking drinks will memories be recollected. After the queuing of time will they stand and say: empty words and protocol, not an emotion in sound or a feeling too real is heard; just another formality to be played. What a lovely person she was, sure to use the past tense and not to mistake that a life has returned. Coffee mornings and business luncheons that is what remains of forty-two years. Stickered car and rusty journeys banged out and heads turning. You went one way and they looked the other that is all that remains of your forty-two years.
Pills prescribed and collected with punctuality, nobody noticed this admirable responsibility. Your house, my home, you gave and I took, but when you left I failed to follow. We looked on and saw rust crumble and stickers peel off, journeys fade and hope die, but we stood and saluted and drank not one drop. Their drinks poured and their voices grew louder, they spoke of you as she and her and forgot about the stickers you stuck and the roads you travelled.
Remembered with affection the 4/12 show and thought who will fill the books now? He sang one last song and remembered you, and kept alive the life that we knew. Just another twenty four hours and she’d have been through. But threw she did into the emptiness we all, and left us collecting images from her car, as they fall.
Breathe a little deeply, oh Hola of mine, pass with me, this passing of time. Another twenty-four hours and we’ll be through, remember, you taught me this little lesson I knew. Tenses jumble and crumble, but memories can only live a little. After you had gone, I came with you, through the other end where hope came back to life and you told me, 'together we made it through'.