I love you more, now that you’ve gone.
It’s peaceful and although most people believe there’s no way you could ever come back, you do.
Don’t you know how to say hello?
I’ve been seeing you in different places lately. Sliding down the ridge of a strong nose. In the dark shadows under eyes. In his slamming door. Falling from the flicked head of a laughing man. And within the front quarter panel of a 1967 HR Holden Sedan.
You remind me of him, though you’re not electric. Maybe one night you will be.
It was after dark once, when I was most afraid, that I felt him arrive. There was no denying the animal beneath.
You were brave enough to show yourself and although I curled myself into an enclosure, parts of you seeped into me.
You are a beautiful ghost.
I wonder if you’ve crossed paths.
Have you met him?
Wherever you are.
Tell him I’m trying.
Let him take you for a ride.
And did he hold you stern and make you promise never to hurt me?
And did he fold you into an envelope of all that once was and send you away?
Like an air parcel for the starving; I can’t catch you.
You’re too heavy.
You and that animal beneath.
You’re almost too much.
All I can do is admire you and throw you thoughts for your silent heart.
And whilst you drag that beast around, hoping it will become lighter, I once again climb down from the wings of that thing that I have tamed. And I make a wish.
We’re all riding something.
Mine is a dominant maladapted monster; winged and ill-favoured. Resplendent and obscure.
It lets me escape and brings me home again.
The trick has been to learn when to feed it.
And when to let it starve.