“We shall not cease from exploration / And the end of all our exploring / Will be to arrive where we started / And know the place for the first time.” — T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets (via psychotherapy)
“
Shuffling his backpack onto his left shoulder, he skipped down the steps, dancing to his new found freedom. By the time his feet passed the last step, his mind questioned his destination and he quickly lost the skip. The white door looked blankly at him, mocking his indecisiveness and weak nature. ‘It’s really quite simple, you either open me or you don’t’ the dead wood whispered to him. He hated inanimate objects talking to him, it made no sense and he was sure it was deemed to be a sign of pure insanity. Refusing to acknowledge the door his cheek swiftly turned to the side, his ear tuned into the silence that roared like a lion through the house.
Without consciously thinking of her he could feel her, her confusion and her own denial. He would have dropped the bag and sprinted back up the staircase if his hand hadn’t lifted up a small Moo card to his eyes. He registered the words ‘Yorkshire Cathedral 14th November 2009’, he read it six times and although he found little comfort in the Arial font he knew what he had to do. Adjusting the backpack so the weight was evenly spread across his back, he turned to face the white door with a balanced mind. ‘Open’ he said. The latch released itself without any help from him. As he stepped out into the windy Camden street he was overwhelmed by the clarity. The sky was grey but when he looked up all he could see were hues of gold.
”
((Wanting to write…just busy with lots…haven’t forgotten))
Expressionless, she stared with bated breath at the screen before her, waiting for the door to sweep closed. He disappeared into the hallway beyond, and she dropped back in her chair with growing contempt for the indifference of her laptop. There on the cheap flat-pack desk it sat, vibrantly eager and lifelessly stoic, awaiting innocently her command, but she couldn’t work now.
She could barely believe how things had changed this past week, denied herself the suggestion that he wouldn’t return. The small make-shift office hung suspended in silence around her, as though the whole world had left with him. The early afternoon was unflinching to her quiet suffering; she could have leapt up, chased him down the stairs, but it would only serve to break the stillness. She longed to be with him, but not to go with him.
Because she never wrote on it.
Because he is such a drama king.
“There isn’t much for me to say” she finally looked up at from her laptop and briefly glanced his way. There he awkwardly stood clutching onto a dirtied khaki pouch. In the last week the glow in his cheeks had been murdered by rough stubble. He was tired, yet the weight of his backpack was strangely comforting. The weight for her remained lodged in her throat, it tied her down and dragged her emotions into an endless abyss. She had no idea how to return.
“Take care Mia” in three words he severed their bond. A bond that would take three lifetimes to create again.”
Because she never wrote on it.