Tangled in a web of emotion, the old man with itchy feet stares at his hands. Hand which have held so many, but today are holding only themselves. They are still steady and neatly kept, though old. Old enough but not wise enough, the old mind whispers. This was at the dawn of the hardest of all partings.
His eyes contract slightly, then widen and contract again as he tries to find the right answer in there. The eyes widen once again then rest. Unable to distinguish right from wrong they appear to have given up. Although it stares at him right in the face, the answer, and had the story played out in front of him, not inside him, he could have seen it clearly. If only it had been some other unfortunate and unsuspecting fool who after all these years had not realised that life was not all about love ... or was it?
This man knows that it is neither right or wrong - this love thing. Neither is there a right or wrong person for loving or way of loving. He remembers an untimely, "I love you too", in between a hand ball and goal and a casual, "Love ya!" with a meat pie.
Then came the fires and uncontrollable sorrow. An unappreciated time, when timing meant everything. It seemed what fate had so easily brought together destiny was deciding to tear apart. Two that were once one unknowingly become only a half.
Half a soul.
Half a life.
Half a love.
The old man remembers the hurt, the loud noise and the pain. He remembers the food, afternoon coffee and Spain. How is it that he can hurt someone he loves ... once loved ... does he still love them - even when he hurts them? Does he hurt them more because he loves them or when he leaves them? Will he leave them? Should he leave them and hurt them or stay and hurt himself?
The eyes have it but the feet are not so sure. SHE still does not know and his silence has wasted her lifetime. The hands are still together, unmoved, untouched - still old. When motion begins and the hands leave each other it is all over. Time may heal all wounds but the question will always remain: why when they were once etched together were they now being erased apart with so much pain?
Immediacy leaves no note or sign. These romantic gestures were least now on his mind. One shoe follows the other onto the foot. One foot leads the other for better or worse. The family home door he closes, for the very last time. The lock latches, there is just one thing on his mind. He ... he is no longer in love.
Ana M
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