17th September 2015

I cannot describe what happened tonight: whole worlds came tumbling down, his mostly. Actually, his worlds were already tumbling down and I was there to witness it. It was like a meteor shower or the fuselage of a rocket dropping through the sky.

Strange when dreams confront the reality. There is always pain, letting the dream float away like the butterfly that it is. But dreams can only become real when they are grounded in something solid, earthy and knowable. Otherwise a dream is like a flirtation, something flighty that can lead the body to the brink of the cliff.

Who are we and who do we want to be?

It is the very matter and substance of life. It changes all the time, who we want to be that is — but not who we actually are. As I watched the silhouette of his navy car drive away under the cover of darkness, I realised that for better or worse we had done the right thing. At last, that night, as I sat beneath the pinpoints of fairy lights and against the mellow apricot wall he had finally seen who I was. He had seen that I might not be right for him and he could not make the promise he wanted to.

Outside I can see all manner of stars and constellations quite clearly. It is the peace of Welsh nights, free from light pollution, luxuriating in the rich, velvety blackness of night. The silence is quite beautiful, it leaves no doubt about the solitude — peaceful, deep — that stalks our lives here on earth.

As I watched the sorrowful man pull away in his car, at a loss with himself, thunderstruck by what had happened and the wild, grainy savouring of truth that had flocculated and gathered upon the surf of that quiet night, I felt sorry for him.

We must earn our happiness, the price is careful self-analysis. For our relationships to be healthy  we must be healthy, for us to love others we must love ourselves.

The quietude here is infinite, only the pitter-patter of my fingers snipping the keyboards disturbs it. I am unexpectedly keeping my own company here tonight, in one of the most lovely valleys in mid-Wales.

I, perhaps, will not forget how I came to be here in Wales and who took me here: it is perhaps the best thing that will come of this dream-quest of ours. Let me put it to good use.

I will not forget how this new chapter in my life began. It began with a departure and a promise of future return. It began with the shattering of dreams. It began with writing.


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