The North wind blew. I begged HIM not to, but it was time to go, and HE told me as much. I frantically began to gather the pieces of my life strewn about both haphazardly, and yet with painstaking care in the unfounded hope that leaving my bits here and there would somehow serve as a tether. No use in such foolishness. The ferocity with which HE forced my dislodging also severed the ties of love and life, the connexions to friend and even foe. . .
I ache as the chill of the North fills me and drives me onward. . .Gone are the warmth of the man I held, the gemütlichkeit felt amoungst friends and wine. Replacing them is the cold that drives and drives and licks at my heals forcing me onward to something new.
Funny how we remember things. I used to embrace the change, run towards it faster than the wind HIMSELF. I used to welcome HIS coming like an old friend. I was always ready to go when HE called, my life neatly packaged and ready to be shipped, nothing left behind, no roots planted in tera-firma, everything portable. I would rush to the next experience and set up shop, greeting all of the newness and richness that surrounded me.
Not any more - I drag my heels, my arms are outstretched, my finger tips being pried away angrily gripping for dear life to the man who shared my bed. The wind hits my tears and they sting my face at their instant frost. Dear life is what I want. . . a dear, sweet, simple life with the man I love - uncomplicated, unadorned, and untouched by HIS cold and frosty whip.
Alas, it is too much to ask. . .my last finger is pried away, I beg the man who shared my bed to follow and go with. He stares back at me with the eyes of a boy. The love I thought I had from him was fleeting and I realise that my fate is drawn. I bow my head, the aching sobs pouring from my chest are muffled in the cold blow of the North. HE will masque my pain, HE always does. . .
