A Train-Wreck Love Affair

For me, at least, that “Moment” when you think you’ve met a women who may be “The one” doesn’t happen too often in your life: the moment when a girl or women you find quite pretty or interesting, intriguing or whatever the polite phrase of the day is, actually smiles at you. The day a door of opportunity creaks open to reveal a future you never thought possible, even a week before you met her.

Of course, I already knew that: I had walked through a similar looking door four years previously and now “Mess” describes my personal life, and evidence of poor judgement and lack of will littered my entire circumstance. Still, just because things are messy does not mean I cannot dream or long for opportunity. “Be brave.” I told myself, “Get it right for once. After all, I can clear the current mess up once I’ve drunk from the goblet of romance, and brought some colour back to a monochrome existence. I know you’ll understand.” I cannot let a chance like this slip through my life.

You were a “moment” in my life; a woman whose face softened and then smiled as I drew you to me and embraced you with all the tenderness years without recognition can produce in the emotionally malnourished male. You were that moment when “Being” and passion swept away all practical niceties, reluctant responsibilities or moral sensibility: the moment which will always be treasured and regretted in my memory.

Within days you had a sense that all was not as it should be; that my talk was more of wishes than of facts, and my careless way with promises had caused problems all my life, but, after a years of restrictions, recently widowed and tentatively connecting with your creative spirit once again, I seemed like the promise of some new beginning and you so wanted me to be as I seemed. You wanted me to be everything the man who taught you to celebrate life again should be.

At last, flooded by emotion, and in a moment of reckless candour, I told you “There is a wife located at my home in the country,” and you remarked on the use of the detached third person when I disclosed her presence in my life. “Did you have to wait until I loved you to tell me that?” you asked me, and I said it was not deliberate. “Chaos seldom is” you said, as you left my flat and then my life.