Something’s been dislodged
by a happy day.
My words again feel
free to float.
The playing with new friends
brought understanding,
and warmth
to melt that ice
in my throat.

I see myself,
going the wrong way.
I’m watching in slow motion
and I don’t stop it,
even though I know I should.
The emotional impact,
like a slow-burn of my heart,
has started engulfing me.
STOP going there.
But I keep doing it.

You’re pushing on buttons
that I didn’t even know I had.
Some of them, very sore.
Now I have to look at them
and work out whether I should
turn them off,
leave them pressed,
or remove them completely.

There’s this grief
simmering underneath.
Steady and ignorable,
or - boiling and unmistakable.
There’s no going back
but the grief is there.
Tangled grief for two -
husband lost long ago,
and a love that brought me to life.
Grief for my innocent self
that slammed up hard against his
mental illness —
and lost.
I know
the actions I take now
will frame life going forward.
It’s just that, sometimes,
relief from the grief
is so tempting.

My weakness
can be what draws people to me.
So kind, so caring.
The thing is —
nobody wants me to be kind
in spite of myself.
It hurts more for them
if I compromise, smile,
rather than just
ripping the plaster off.

There was silence there,
papered over with effort.
I think you have a
person-sized hole
in your life
to fill.
I have a person-sized wound
to overcome.
It won’t be overcome
by a silence,
papered over with effort.

The day of
warm caresses,
hiking, company, coffee.
And —
memories,
memories,
memories.