Good Mourning

I fell asleep last night with a tear held fast in the well of my eye, a pain in my chest and a heart out of beat and waited for the dreams to begin. After three nights of dream filled sleep minus the grey foxes that run through my legs, I saw myself walking in the city. Every face that passed me was the same and the tears could no longer be held in. I found refuge in an old stairway with a yellow bike blocking my route and tried to regain my composure and breath. But I could not breath. The grey fox was staring at me, shaking his head.

“What do you want from me? I have nothing more to hide. I am not concealing anything.”

He carried on staring at me, unfazed by my words and sat on the ground and licked his wounds.

I stood to walk back out into the street. The fox jumped to attention and followed my every step. I walked down tree filled boulevards, in between the familiar faces, avoiding the cyclists and the eyes of those faces staring at me. The fox ran in between and around my legs as I walked and under the purple blossomed tree he stopped blocking my path. Forced to stop I looked up and the face was staring back at me with a smile.

“Why?”

No answer

“I miss you”

No response. Just a smile

“I hate you.”

The face turned grey and cried and I cried, and we stood staring at each other, crying. There was a hug somewhere between us, but we could not reach it; a kiss somewhere in the void, but our mouths were tight shut. I tried to run away, but I could not move. I looked down at the fox and he looked up at me and mouthed the words “I love you”.

Advertisements

About channahboo

I was once a Yorkshire lass, I guess I still am, but after moving to London and then on to Tel Aviv, New York and then back to Tel Aviv again, I wonder how much of the Yorkshire lass is left. The adventure continues and although many see my life as an extended episode of Seinfeld (you are free to laugh), I can also empathise with the Buddhist thought of life as our punishment. I guess the important part is the love that you carry with you through life’s journey and my back often feels the joyous strain of the weight of the love I carry.
This entry was posted in Diary and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Good Mourning

  1. Channah, your writing continues to blow me away.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s