A down

The bad of being far away.
10 Oct. 07
00.45 am

She sat, tears streaming down her face…

Oh who am I fooling?

They say that fiction is part free therapy (they say? He said.) part autobiography… so be it.

I sat. Tears not streaming, merely rolling. Slowing completing hollow arches form eye to chin… The song. It filled me. Physical weight of the emotions it dredged up… dull pressure on the glass cage I’d constructed round my heart, grief filling my chest as it attempted to break through. Attempted to win the emptiness and the cold. Pain in my shoulders as the tension escaped elsewhere. My neck always hurts in an argument, physical manifestation of pain, anger and most things in between/. Milano. A different milano to the one that used to cause me pain (and love and joy at times). Musical memories of sheets and sighs. Of timing- the good (the oh so good) and the bad.

This pain, almost a vibration. Dull note that resonates in my now empty chambers from hands to heart, chest to shoulders, spine to neck. Poor neck…. No massages for a while. I stretch it. Familiar clicking form side to side… the chiropractor! Another of those plans, unfulfilled- on the to do list for each week.

The song ebbs off. And I’m calm again.