The people are calling out to us they want to be part of our story but they can't hear us we are too far beyond them and also the language we are speaking is not one they have any knowledge of. It's our language, our secret. No one even comes close to touching you the way I do. I don't mean physically I mean your beautiful way of being. They all try and get close by dancing around you with the lights off but they can't take their eyes off you. They are dazzled by your charm. The lights are always off. Its somehow easier that way. The darkness lets us be the way the way I always wanted to be as a child. Talk to them you said. Tell them your secrets. But I wanted to tell you my secrets like when I was 8 and made up dance routines in my bedroom to each of the Backstreet Boys songs whilst singing into my aerosol can. You were not there. But in some strange way you were. You have always been with me. We come from different places and different eras but something is the same. We are the same. I looked at you and realised my face is not like yours any more. The wrinkles are coming fast and thick. My eyes are sad for times gone by and I can't do this any more. I'm running away in my mind and you've somehow caught up with me to fix all the things which can not be broken.
As though they are somehow enough to make me want you again. I love you have I told you that my dear I'm sorry I never did. It was never the right time the right place. But when is it ever the right time. I just couldn't get the words out. I tried to but all that came out of a half hearted attempt to spit out a word or two which didn't do it or you any justice. You noticed and so did I. How could you not? You see I'm not as beautiful as you. In many ways more than one. My path is broken. Somewhere down the middle. I tried to fill in the cracks but all I could find was mud. It was everywhere all over my face and ruined my clothes. Those ones that you loved and I was sorry. I am sorry. What can I do to pin a piece of you in my mind. The trees don't look the same any more. I wander the streets and they feel empty without you. Come back to me. Paint my walls with all of your beautiful words. Splatter my world with them in every colour and hang them out to dry on your grandmother's washing line. Turn the old noisy heater up and let's eat cookies in bed and forget about it all. The crumbs are everywhere and I want to keep them there always. We look at ourselves in the reflection of the window and smile because we know. Yes we know this is always the way it should be.