‘We cannot reach you,’ they said.
‘Where do you go inside that head
of yours? You weren’t always like this.
We’re sick of trying.’ ‘You push us away,’
said the friend who told me yesterday,
‘You see, it’s harder for us than for you.’
If they only knew.
But I have too much to document...
too much to record...to write down...
too much to remember before I forget...
Lose what little there is left of you,
like stardust, filtering through
my fingers. All I can do is to take
one step at a time and yet, where to,
is anyone’s guess.
I remember that day at the beach;
you – just turned thirteen. The first time
in a bikini; bashful as hell, you were,
as you had me stand at the water’s edge –
hold on tight to your clothes. I knew,
even then, where you were going
I could not follow. But I will though,
by and by.