when we matched

when I said hello

when I said yes

when I opened my heart

when I’m honest

I chose you

in those moments

we show up every day

allowing you

to see

my vulnerability

my messiness

my beauty

my brokenness

To be chosen

shows up differently

In our actions

in our words

in our hopes

It’s what we all want

In our search

we sometimes

get lost

and it’s in learning

that we learn to

find our way back

to each other

the decision

has been made

we are chosen

I brought our relationship to an end in April. After six weeks of silence and then being blocked, I took the decision to end our relationship. His belongings were returned, along with a letter, and a collection of poems I wrote of our time together. I posted it to be delivered without signature, as I knew he wouldn’t be at home to receive it, where it would be placed either in a safe place or left with a neighbour. I never knew if it was ever received as I had lost the post office slip with the reference number to check.

I thought he would return my belongings. One month passed, and then another month. I suspected all my things were left exactly where it was in his bedroom. Untouched. I was willing to cut my losses, prepared to not see them again and thought I need to ask for them. I carefully constructed my message. It was polite but formal, removing any emotion from my request. I was blocked on WhatsApp so it was sent as a generic SMS. It was delivered but never read. A week passed and with quiet resolve, I wrote a letter using the same stationary I wrote my last letter to him. I didn’t want my letter to be too formal, so chose not to type it. I rewrote what I sent in my text message, my hands trembling as I wrote in my cursive writing. There was a risk that if he recognised my writing that he wouldn’t read it, but took the chance. When I took the letter to the post office, I requested that not only did I want the letter to be delivered the next day but also to be signed for. I knew he would be at home on the Saturday morning having a lie-in with a second coffee when it would be delivered. £11.50. That’s what it cost for me to get the photographic evidence that it was received by him. The photo showed the door slightly ajar, his bare feet showing and his electronic signature. My letter was formal, “As we are no longer in a relationship, it is not appropriate to hold onto my belongings”. I gave him three options for return stipulating a one week deadline.

I didn’t expect to receive anything from him, it would not only have taken too much effort, but to also face the reality of what has happened. When I came home from work, and opened the front door cupboard for deliveries, I saw an additional package, which I couldn’t remember ordering, and then I saw his address. For the briefest of moments, my heart stopped.

My hand shook, the parcel felt like a heavy burden I was carrying. I took it out in the garden and tried to open it but my hand trembled so much that someone had to help me. When the packaging was removed, I recognised the box that it was delivered in. It was the same box that was used to deliver his belongings two months ago. Everything was neatly folded, and there was a folded brown envelope recycled from a postcard where all he wrote was “Apologies for the delay. S” It was the first time I saw his writing. I never received a card from him. He was a man who gave practical gifts. He apologised for the delay, not the hurt caused. He gave an apology for logistics but unable to give an apology for the trigger of emotions from his actions. Sadly, it was the apology I expected.

I noticed the box was covered in a thick layer of dust, not the condition I had sent it to him and then it clicked. He only opened the parcel I sent him that weekend when he received my letter. The formality of the letter forced him to face the reality that he was avoiding. And what he found were not only belongings returned but an act of love: his brogues repaired, polished with spare laces and a gift of love: handwritten poems that provided its own timeline of our relationship journey, handwritten in my cursive writing reflecting the pain I felt, some of the pages tear stained, with gentle ink smudges that were tied together with string, giving him a fragile piece of my heart, with all the memories captured through verse.

What have I learnt from this experience? Sometimes we need to be apart, to fully appreciate not only what we have had, but also what we have lost.

The writer in me, seeks final closure the only way I know how, through an essay, which I hope to finish during my holiday in Nice this summer.

waters lay still

the dark shadows

of castles

with stories untold.

I stood by the window

Looking out

at the quiet beauty

before me

You opened

your heart

allowing me

into your world

when you held

my hand

I felt

your strength,

your love,

those blue eyes

looking into

the window

of my soul

as I laid bare

my vulnerability

in your hands

as I found my way to you.

Words run deep

speaking our truth

from the heart

without armour

but with curiosity

over coffee

white foam

poured into a dark ocean

a bitterness savoured,

a warm caress

the briefest of kisses

you gave.

Is it a promise

of something more?

Almost breathless

you left me

as I dared to

pull myself away

afraid

to dream

to hope

to be

wanted

desired

loved

that’s all we ever want

and yet we are left

forever wanting.

The could have been

That became an almost

The possibility

That never became a reality

A love that you thought existed

but was never really there

And all you are left with is

the silence where something

almost was

As the days drew nearer to the day, I can see how stressed and unhappy he was, the bickering amongst his kids, the layers of stress and getting blamed for it all. On Christmas Eve, I received a message apologising, he had his son with him, so unable to leave. I ended up on my own, that Christmas and never bothered doing the turkey and all the trimmings (ended up eating it in February the following year). Luckily, I gave him my presents a week early, so he enjoyed opening them up on the day.

If things couldn’t get worse, on Boxing Day, I missed my flight to Trinidad, by being late in checking in my luggage by 10 minutes. There were severe delays on the train and taking an Uber to the airport did not help either as he took a short cut that added another 20 minutes, precious time that was lost, that cost me another £3k as I had to buy tickets for the next flight. I couldn’t bear the thought of travelling again, so checked into a hotel at the airport which can only be described as a stainless steel cubicle with bunk beds, a shower, toilet and dinky sink, but it was a surreal experience as I didn’t see any sunlight for a few days and wondered what life would be like living from an airport! I have gained a deep appreciation for those working at the airport as 9-5 doesn’t exist.

When we eventually got to Trinidad, it was lovely to catch up with family, eat the home comfort foods, not caring about the weight gain and sporting the look of a lobster, very sunburnt from having an early morning swim in the pool at Gasparee Islands to spending long days at the beach in Maracas.

I travelled back to the UK in capri pants, forgetting to check the weather, only to discover it was snowing, so the strange looks on the Tube made me smile. First weekend in January, ended up getting my presents with an apology, and relief to see me, but deep down something shifted, just couldn’t place my finger at the time, but now when I look back, it was the early signs of a depressive episode.

In 2024, Christmas was significant. It was the first time that M and I would be spending Christmas together in our own home since 2018, when we first moved after the separation and permanent break from her dad, an 18 year relationship. It was low key but symbolic. The tree was lit with all the decorations we bought and accumulated over the years. Our tree wasn’t designer, we found it dumped on the side of the road, and it’s in our home many years later where it’s loved. We forgo the traditional turkey for venison, watched Love Actually and Bridget Jones’s Diary, opened presents in the living room and played Christmas music all day. Low key and the way, I wanted it to be.

This year, Christmas will be different. M and I will be together, but there will also be midnight mass and a walk in Epping Forest as we’ll be having a late lunch. I want it to be another low key year, so will look at The Holiday. It hasn’t been an easy year for both M and myself, so hoping that the day will be filled with quiet contentment and gratitude and grace for the gift of love, and hope that burns brightly in our house, from our hearts to yours. Merry Christmas 🎄

10 years later, it’s a different story. The pandemic took my career in a different direction in the world of “resilience”. I’m physically and mentally drained working in a profession that neither respects or values you but only sees your worth in an emergency crisis where there’s a sigh of relief that you’ll sort it and get it done.

10 years ago, I was in a long term relationship where we were ships passing through the night. We lived in the same house, but rarely spent time together, the demands of our careers meant we hardly saw each other. We were too exhausted, too tired to see that our relationship was falling apart. We just existed.

10 years later, my heart has been broken several times over, I’ve fallen flat on my face, emotionally bruised by putting myself out there…wanting, hoping, waiting, I’ve finally found the love that was missing. In loving myself, love found its way to me that feels peaceful, content, safe and protective.

What will the next 10 years bring?

At age 40, something shifted. There was a desired to do something different, so decided to do an MSc, and change jobs. The multiple plates came crashing, while doing a dissertation, changing legislation and preparing M for 7+ exams (this is a thing).

And then age 45, I left a 18 year relationship because I wanted to more than exist beyond the logistic. Starting over gave me the chance to reset, to rediscover who I am and what I could be. It felt like a fight at times, being a single income earner, continually doing the maths, knowing that everything depended on you: the mortgage, the bills, the repairs, the cleaning, the gardening, the cooking, the homework, the tears.

There were times, when the rug was pulled underneath me, I fell on my raised, bruised with disappointment with the relationships and people who failed to show up, to be there when I needed them the most.

At 50, I learnt how to be alone, to put myself first, which felt scary and freeing for the first time. My life is a buzz of activity with DIY, classical concerts, theatre, gym, cold water swimming and massages. The imposter syndrome is still there, lurking in the background, found a mind f**k. I’m “always trying”. I try, and try, refusing to give up, to fail. I’ve also learnt to laugh, to be silly, to have fun, because life is for living and in order for me to thrive, I need laughter, colour, soul food, coffee, cake, solid friendships and the best daughter ever and a romantic love to instilled passion and fire from within.

I’m finding courage to be creative, finally finding my voice, where it will take me, I don’t know. This journey is like exploring the curves of my body with bumps and bruises along the way with a story to tell. And this photo is a new story and journey, the tiny freckles, a myriad of memories. Thanks Lori for giving me this opportunity.

#FlashFiction

I listen to your soft breathing,

the rhythms of your heart,

almost a whisper,

a sunlight’s kiss on your hair.

Gently you stir,

arms outstretched

as you reach out for me,

in a sleepy haze

with a feathery kiss,

the tip of your nose

stroking the nape of my neck,

your knees tucked under mine,

as you fall asleep again,

dreaming of tomorrow.

sleeping together,

the warmth of bodies

in a cool room.

Sleepy half kisses,

on my spine

as you hold me close

feeling safe

feeling warm

feeling loved

eyes closed

soft breaths

against my skin

as we fall asleep

peacefully

in each other’s

arms

One chic flat white

On a silver tray

Waiting

Brewing

In anticipation

A tentative touch

A cursory smile

A promise of

sacred spaces

shared moments

in porcelain

The lingering taste

on my lips

forever hopeful

you’ve found me

your index finger

pressed tightly

on my lips.

Silence

followed

by years of darkness

Burnt

by your touch

Broken

bruises forever lingering

Weeping in private

Tears of a lost childhood

As I carry this burden

alone.

Intimate.

Romance in the afternoon.

Love is as strong as.

For this beating heart of mine,

through joy and heartbreak,

will always know love.

To leave

the keys behind

the door closed

Heavy footsteps

Heavier heart

Memories

Dreams

Hope

Silenced by fear

As I unlock

another door

to a new life

alone

with fire in my soul.

Reflective.

Curious.

Compassionate.

Looking for

that special person,

who will be in my corner,

holding my hand,

with smiles and laughter.

Are you..

…that person?

An intent stare, trying to imprint in  memory, this moment...the salt and pepper hair that caresses the pillow, the curve of your smile, the slow whisper of your breathing, the warmth of your embrace. And with a tender kiss I slipped away, with a soft click of the door, knowing that I may never see you again.

Slowly

Steadily

The father holds

his newborn baby

Joy!

Her eyes,

tiny and bright,

the colour of

black coals.

Her hair,

a curly halo.

Her mouth,

a little red blot

that expands with time.

Her skin,

a soft glow.

A bond formed,

a new love found

as he felt

her warm body

against his.