How do you leave a home that’s worked it’s way through the life of a family
A home that’s sat back and watched and waited to be loved again
As time after time it has been
How do you say goodbye to a home that fits around the years, of ups and downs
Of dreams and fears
How will I say goodbye to a home with a door that was always open to meet a
A tearful breakup, met with a house full of family love
And nothing travels better than family love
Family will remember the lovely different house.
Baby Jesus left early, as Mum and Dad moved in, Jamie insisted.
It was a porcelain cherub truth be told
And I hope Jamie hurts himself on another one this time
As we move Mum and Dad in, and they start extending, and Mum bleeds the radiator furthest away from the boiler xx
I wonder how you feel whilst buying a new Phantom drop head with the brushed aluminium bonnet and the polished wood behind you making you want to buy a Riva.
I wonder if it feels better than giving one to your Dad, giving one to your Dad would make you feel glad.
But would it feel nicer and would you be gladder.
If you felt inside a dead kangaroo’s pouch, and found a scared baby that couldn’t understand why Mum was so still.
And you took the baby roo and did what the Mum died trying to.
And I know the feeling of buying, and I know the feeling of giving but I’m thinking the feeling of saving
I’m thinking what a feeling and feeling and feeling.
I met her again in spud u like she was working on the salad bar.
After the siege at the jewellers she was weary.
But I just had a green leaf salad and she relaxed.
We went on a date and on the train we argued about the best jacket potato filling and how much damage the microwave jacket potato had done in real terms.
I think looking back I knew it couldn’t work.
She did know a lot about loft insulation and now,
So do I.
I still think of her and I always put chives in my grated cheese just before the tuna mayo.
We spoke on the phone months later and after a pause She said:
You know we’re too different and your potato’s are too thick skinned.
I wiped away a tear and replied:
We’ll always have the siege at the jewellers x
When I was dog I fell in love with a cat.
At least I think I did if I knew what love was.
I knew that when we parted I felt empty and I wanted to tell cat that I needed to be near her all the time.
My family and friends, the ones that knew.
They said I was mad and that cat was a fad.
But for a time it was perfect and listening to cat purr on the roof as we snuggled and slept and awoke in the morning sharing the lovely warmth from each other is etched forever in my canine heart.
I was in love and happy and that was that, but what came between us was that she was a cat.
Maybe I always knew one day we would part.
We had little in common and she had sharp claws.
And I think sometimes things got a little lost in translation.
Why didn’t she understand?
I can’t think of a day when I don’t miss her more than the day before.
When I was a dog I fell in love with a cat.
And I learned what love is and what love was.
Now looking back it’s simple to write.
I was a dog in love with a cat.
And that Is that.
When I was a cat I went out with a cat.
We would meet on roof tops I hated that.
He would bring me mice I hated that.
Sometimes when I was cleaning my whiskers I would feel his eyes and turn my back.
He hated that.
One day on the roof when I felt so alone.
And all I wanted to do was watch my dog with his bone.
One day when my eyes were full and gave me away.
My dog climbed To the roof and brought me a mouse!
I loved that.
My dog tasted my tears as they changed from winter to spring.
I loved that.
The day that the waters rose and I said goodbye to my friends as they discarded their drowning bodies, seemed like a thousand years ago. And it probably was.
Time has no meaning for an immortal, unless the immortal attaches love to it’s companion. The constraints and effects of time on an immortals loved one will be felt for an eternity of memory on the immortal oh so clever flood dodging Nephilim.
Each happy flowing vivid attached thought of your love, with her mortal life, to be followed by the memory of the draining life slowly sliding down the once beautiful mortal face.
The immortal, in this case.
Must learn not to attatch itself to anyone or thing. Unless it fancies feeling the complete heartbreak of losing a loved one, and forever remembering the feeling of being alone as you wake and ache along with your heart as you feel the space left by the one that completed your everlasting living.
Being immortal has to be extreme in it’s hurt, or it’s lonely path. Living without love forever seems a pointless path, a path set out by a selfish search to avoid the thing that will bring the life you wear meaning, that is to share.