The bridge to a new season

I vaguely remembered crying the other night but then questioned if it was part of a dream I had.
As I cried someone I trust held my hand.
I don’t remember why I cried but grief and loss, hurt and sadness and a sense of aloneness in feeling I don’t quite fit in this world because I care so much, would have all been swirling somewhere in the mix.
With enough booze consumed like an Irish navvy (I feel my grandad would give me permission to say that as it describes him perfectly) I was able to share those tears rather than hide them. I may not remember anything beyond my hand being held but I do remember feeling safe and warm and cared about.

On my way that morning I noticed a poem on the tube, just as I travelled through Blackhorse Road station where my Nan and Grandad lived.
It was written by an Irish poet. I loved it so much I took a photo.

“Note – Leanne O’Sullivan.

If we become separated from each other this evening try to remember the last time you saw me and go back and wait for me there.
I promise I won’t be very long, though I am haunted by the feeling that I might keep missing you, with the noise of the city growing too loud and the day burning out so quickly.
But let’s just say it’s as good a plan as any.
Just once let’s imagine a word for the memory that lives beyond the body, that circles and sets all things alight. For I have singled you out from the whole world, and I would – even as this darkness is falling, even when the night comes where there are no more words, and the day comes when there is no more light.”

My day was spent in the most beautiful place with a truly wonderful and thoughtful friend that I love. It held everything I could wish for, was the perfect place to be, in the overlap of the seasons and allowed me in that moment to be the carefree and happy young dreamy girl that always lives quietly hidden inside me.

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