12 December 2013

I’m no closer to goodbye, Henny, and that big hole you left so far behind you remains as wide open as ever, never to be filled. While the shock of losing you may have lessened, the reality stays the same: no you to talk to, no you to touch, no you to be with. Making do with just the memory of you will never be enough. I suppose if I was more of a happy-clappy type, I’d be banging on about all the good things, bright and beautiful: but I want to stay angry and sad and bereft, because that’s the better measure of how much you meant – and mean – to me. So I’ll be there today, on that bastard stretch of road, and I’ll spit on it and rail against the injustice of it, in my private act of defiance. One day, those nice young people in their clean white coats will come and take me away, tra-la, but I promise you, I won’t go quietly. Boy, my boy.

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