“I let myself grow roots only twice. Once in this city. Another time with you.”

‘Here we are. Broken rules and explosions,
a reminder of rumpled sheets and a language created of parts of other things…’

– AV Flox

 

My love,

It is said that much grief and sorrow has come of things unsaid. What is worse, is what one will assume and the conclusions one can arrive at based on nothing but the lack of something; whatever it may be. Words sometimes; an eagerly sought-after tone of voice, a certain tenderness lurking behind the the platitudes. Know that even with this distance, your presence in my life and within me, is an anchor.

When I am with you, even when it’s only by telephone, there is an emotional flex. I feel vulnerable but not defensive. My shoulders relax, my breathing quietens and I feel tiredness creep over my muscles. My body tells me it’s all right to rest now. It’s time to let go.

I let myself grow roots only twice. Once in this city. Another time with you.

One recognises that circumstances are less than ideal and so there is guilt attached to feeling this way and even more so, because despite my most noble intentions, I let it be known to you. Doing so propels one headlong into the vicious vicious cycle of expectation-disappointment-expectation-disappointment.

But there is little choice. These are the pitfalls of sharing and honesty and transparency and I don’t know if I could have it any other way. To perform superficially and exist in a manner to keep the peace at the cost of who we are? I don’t know. Perhaps you will disagree, but I am thinking that peace doesn’t have to be a barter; maybe it can be the incentive.

Look at all that I have written. Such rambling rubbish. God knows I am sick to death of words, sick of talking. I say this and yet, want nothing more but your voice to be the last sound hear before I wait for sleep to come to me now.

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