A Not So Turkish Life

That moment.

When the house is empty, the baby sleeps and there’s only you awake. That moment when all you hear are the sounds of the keys as you type out the words raging round your head. That moment when the words spill and spill and spill. And mean nothing except to you..the incomprehensible letters…round and round they go. That moment when you realise they’ve gone. The person, people, who’ve shared your home for days. The moment you get your house back. And it’s quiet. Too quiet?

Those moments when people leave. Or when they arrive. Or when they’re here. Life stands still at a distance and yet, you change. Evolve. Stay the same. That moment: Keeping it real?

To have to explain, to start from scratch. Can you understand? It’s not a word, or a series of words. It’s not a routine, or a practise or a role. It’s not an addition to a life: it is the shape, becomes the form; completes the whole…

That moment when I doubt it all… And my doubt seeps through into you. And you. That moment when it’s just too much. Can’t explain. Can’t stop the bounce amd can’t roll the ball… In that moment I step outside of me. Loose my way.

Then – that moment…the one that makes none of that relevant, anyway. That moment when all that is, is the love we share.

That moment when I smell my son at the same time as you – that moment he’s all there is. That moment pulls it taut.. strengthens the cut… makes it real.

But now I’m alone and I hear the quiet. So instead, in this moment, I find its noise. I hear the breathing of that precious little boy and I hear the rustling of the newly sewn seams.

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This entry was published on 07/26/2011 at 17:40. It’s filed under Externalise, From Me to You and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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