Oh, we’re all half crazy Leonard,

Yes, we’re all crazy halves.

“And what?” She’d say.

And what?

And I’ve lost count of the thousands of times I’ve fallen in love with you.

Moments I won’t attempt to describe.

Or perhaps I should.

You deserve the effort, my love.

You deserve the thought process.

You deserve more than that.

It’s yours.

They’re moments of the most beautiful, christalline enlightenment.

Comfort and elation resting on a sour bed of terror,

Embittered with a dressing of lemon knives, red knuckles and gut thumping pain.

Unblotched. Unstainable.

Sacred.

Alas, unsustainable.

And they do become stained.

Eventually.

We stain them ourselves.

Eventually.

But watching your face framed in the wing mirror,

As we drove back from bingo,

Your friends sitting beside me,

Us all on the back seats,

(your beauty brought tears to my eyes.)

Nobody saw.

I swallowed; bit my tongue; wiped.

It is the oddest of sensations when tears are not married with sadness.

I’m not upset.

Tears of joy?

But no, not from laughing too hard.

Pain was involved. Pain was there. Pain raised its hand. Pain is present.

A gift?

Oh, we’re all half crazy, Leonard.

It’s not just Suzanne.

Yes, we’re all crazy halves.

Catch me if you can.

OH, WE’RE ALL HALF CRAZY, LEONARD.

Yes, we’re all crazy halves.

And last night, I fell in love with you again,

As you lay framed by another mirror,

Dying in the bath.


November 2010