I’ve been day-dreaming about Rome, my favourite city. I’m standing at the top of the Spanish Steps, looking down towards the Via Con Doti, I always like to start my day there, the whole city laid out before me…. Living history.

I’d been looking through the photos, and that always gets to me, the places and memories come back in a flash. People I met… and not forgetting the people I was with. So many visits, three wives and three different lives. Forty years….. I know it better than London.

First time was in the seventies, a young man in my early twenties. Bold, brash and totally lost. A crowd from the Karate Club, lads on tour; a short city break. I wanted to re-enact the Bruce Lee fight in the Coliseum; the one he had with Chuck Norris. It was a dream, but I had that moment; my friend and I just went for it….. Pure magic. Standing quietly afterwards, thinking of all that’s taken place there; it took my breath away.

Photos at Trevi Fountain, coins over the shoulder, followed by a walk through the streets. By the time we found the Spanish steps I was sold. I knew the coins were working, I could feel the electricity. I loved everything about it, the streets, the people; the food and the wine.

We never did get to the Vatican, left for another trip. We did see St. Peters, I was blown away by the size and the magnificence of it; feeling the power the Catholic Church has over its people. I felt a shudder pass through me.

Standing on the Via Apia, walking in the footsteps of the Caesars; I knew I had to go back. I wasn’t a history buff, I just loved the atmosphere. The street cafés were new to us, the food and wine were something new as well; back in the West Country all we had were burger vans. Nothing would ever be the same again.

After Rome there were many more places, but Rome will always be special, the good thing is….Nothing’s changed.

Outside the Kafenion around a small table, they sit playing ‘catch us if you can’

with their memories. The talk is of days gone by, a girl called Maria, sons… and letters from America. They tell of fast cars, tall buildings and endless space; cities that reach up to the sky. The island knows nothing of this… and anyway, only Christos can read; and who believes him? Old men with old memories, sat dozing and filling their days with idle talk and chequers. Life on the Island has changed, the fish no longer come, not the big ones; only the foreigners come now. Day trips round the Island for drunken young men, girls in clothes more suited to bedrooms than boats. They feel like beggars, holding out their hands for the new money.

Yannis brings more coffee, his apron stained with yesterday’s lunch. The smell of the thick black sweet brew fills the air, holding them in their seats. Where else would they go, it’s too early for the ferry from Volos. Mikalis, eighty- six next birthday, oldest of the group, wipes a hand across his moustache, stained by years of sea and cigarettes…

“Another game?”

Conversation turns back to Maria, gone for twenty years; returning with children and an American husband. New blood mixed with old, new money and new ideas.

‘A hotel with a swimming pool? Why… when the sea is all around?’

The rattle of the chequers, the click of the beads; the murmur of voices from the past.

At the harbour Maria sits waiting for the ferry from Volos, bringing she hopes, her guests for the coming fortnight. The travel company have promised much, but its early days and bookings are slim. David her husband, an academic and writer, told her the Island was perfect for him. He has great faith in her energy and ability. She still worries. As the ferry rounds the curve of the bay she prepares her smile while beckoning Dimitris to open the doors to the people carrier.

The old men have walked down to the harbour and occupied their usual seats under the plane tree. They watch with interest the comings and goings around the Ferry. It’s a daily game for them, and today was change over day for the tourists. They discuss at length each person as they disembark; trying to guess the nationality is a favourite. Tomorrow morning they would load some of them into their boats, and deliver them to beaches; returning at five o’clock to collect them. It was all that was left to them… better than nothing.

Maria stands, smile in place; her name board held up. A young couple wave and walk towards her; another older couple join them. Just the four this trip, it was the same last week; and they had left on the early morning boat for Skiathos. She keeps her thoughts to herself; but knows it isn’t enough.

Out of the corner of her eye… another couple left standing on the dock; back-packs beside them. Waving to Dimitris to load the cases into the carrier she walks over and introduces herself.

“You are English…yes? If you are looking I have rooms”

She hopes they haven’t booked anywhere… and is rewarded with hesitant smiles.

“No commitment… just come and see. I have clean rooms… and a swimming pool! You will love it…I can take you now if you wish…just to look?”

The old men laugh, “You have to admire her” Says Christos.

“Yes, she’s a one off all right, we should all be so lucky to have a wife like her; no need to fish for tourists….Maria will do it for you!”

They laugh with Mikalis, each thinking… she would keep a man warm at night too.

The talk turns to the Germans, they are back, this time with wives instead of guns. They are renovating houses in Hora, the old town sat on top of the Island; in ruins since the Earthquake in the 60’s. The Germans are taking it over …something had to be done before they own the Island.

“I think they are doing good, if it brings more people, then it brings more money; what could be wrong with that?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Vasilis… We know, and we know why you say it, with your son working in Hamburg what else would you say. You forget what they did to our country, how many died trying to keep them out. Now you want to welcome them with open arms, sell them our Island cheap; just to get some money in your pocket?…blood money I call it”.

“I forget nothing Giorgos, I was there too; it is you who are forgetting. We fought the fathers and grandfathers…should the sons pay for their fathers sins? And what about the Italians…would you kick out the Italian women?

The group break into more Laughter and the mood lightens. Maria hears the raised voices as she waits for the last of the bags to be loaded, she knows only too well the resistance to change; the resentment building her Hotel has caused.

“You are the last of the past” she shouts over to them… “It’s time to move on” laughing as she said it. They wave their hands in mock consternation, laughing with her. She sees their eyes run over her…not so old after all she thinks.

The ferry sounds its horn, time to move on up the Island chain; Skyros waits. For the men of the sea it is all the same, load and unload. A wave of the hand and they are gone. The hustle and bustle leaves with them. The Island falls back to sleep.

 

I glanced across the room, they were standing in the entrance… smiling across at me; a bottle of red in Tom’s hand.

“Happy birthday Alan”

Tom said…Holding out the bottle as I reached them.

“Thanks for that old man” I replied, laughing.

“Happy birthday Alan”.

Anna reached for me, kissing me on both cheeks. The smell of her perfume as intoxicating as any drug.

“How old is it now?”

As if she didn’t know.

“How does twice twenty one sound?”

I had known Anna for the last three years and loved her since the day I met her.

“Let’s get you something to drink”.

I was moving towards the kitchen, trying to break the spell Anna wove around me.

“So how’s the new job going Alan?”

Tom’s words brought me to my senses.

“Oh… not as bad as I expected, it’s the travelling that’s killing me. The trouble with Exeter is even with the M5 and the improvements to the 303 London are still a long way… and let’s not mention the trains”.

“Have you thought of moving up there?”

“I have to admit, I’m considering it”.

“What do you think Julia would say about moving?”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” I replied, as my wife arrived.

He turned and Julia smiled that radiant smile of hers… the one that used to melt my heart in an instant… why not now I thought.

“Hello Tom” she said.

“Julia, you look as lovely as ever”.

He leaned forwards kissing her on the cheek.

“I wish” she sighed, “The kids are turning me into an old bag before my time”.

“I was just asking Alan if you had considered moving with his new job… to save on all this commuting”.

“I would move tomorrow, it’s just the kids and school… Anna would know what I mean. You men don’t take things like that into account”.

“That’s a tad condescending… I think” said Tom half laughing.

Anna joined us and stared right into my soul…

“What’s all this about you moving?”

I felt my heart slipping…

“It’s only an idea at this stage; we need to think about it more”.

“A lot more” said Julia sharply.

“Oh dear, I’ve said the wrong thing”.

“Not at all” I tidied up, “as I said, it’s just an idea at this stage”.

We moved back into the lounge to pay our respects and mingle with other friends. God, I thought, all I want to do is kiss her; but that would have to wait.

Anna and I met at an office party. It was the usual thing, too much to drink, twenty years married and bored… along with a big ego. I have no idea what Anna saw in me, she was beautiful, talented and way out of my league; but she seemed to want to talk to me. I spent the evening staring down her cleavage and the night fucking our brains out in a room upstairs in the Hotel.

She was incredible, all the things that had been missing in my life for years. Left behind with the coming of children; the pressure of normal married life. We couldn’t get out of our clothes fast enough. She had a body to die for and knew it, she sat astride me and I look up at her, with her head thrown back… I was in heaven.

It may have started as a casual fling but it soon developed into a full blown affair; by now I was in too deep and sinking fast, if you’ll excuse the pun. We talked about leaving our partners… but each of us must be wondering how it would work? With the job move a possibility, we needed to talk.

The ‘new Job’ had been a bit of a surprise. I was approached by Croziers, a big London outfit to head up a new division to take their company out from London; and open offices in other major cities. First I had to spend time in the London Office, to plan, recruit and learn more about the company. I was currently spending most of the week in London and home only at weekends. This couldn’t go on for ever for ‘oh so many reasons’.

The party was in full swing now and Julia was being the perfect hostess… mingling and sorting all the drinks out.

“Alan” she shouted to be heard over the music, “Tell everyone that the foods out in the Kitchen.”

They must have heard her… but I did the rounds; it gave me an excuse to talk to Anna again.

“Foods up” I said, leading her by the hand into the Kitchen.

“Are we still on for next Monday?” she whispered.

“So far so good”.

I was thinking ‘to hell with the food all I want to do is eat you!’

“I will text if there’s a problem”.

Anna and I would meet as often as we could. After the first year I had rented a studio flat; we didn’t want it to become public knowledge yet… there was so much to think about. The kids and what they would think being the main one. I couldn’t help wondering from time to time ‘how did I let this happen?’ It was all too easy when I was still working here, but now it was getting increasingly difficult.

“Are we going to dance darling?”

It was Julia, looking a little the worse for wear.

I caught hold of her hand and made our way back into the lounge that was doubling up as a disco by now.

The night progressed as these things always do with sufficient booze to free up the inhibitions, soon I was in the arms of Anna; and dancing far to close for comfort.

“We have to talk” I said whispering in her ear.

“Anything in particular on your mind” she said mischievously.

“I can’t go on like this for much longer, and anyway, I may move to London… what will we do then? Meet me tomorrow” I said, more in hope than expectation.

“How on earth can I Alan, It’s the weekend and the kids and Tom are home, I just can’t do it, we’ve been over this before”.

Her voice was causing others to notice…I wished I hadn’t started this conversation.

I could see Tom and Julia dancing together and talking on the other side of the room, but they seemed oblivious to us…I heaved a sigh of relief. The music finished and we parted. I went looking for yet another drink and bumped into Tom on the same mission.

“Great party Alan” he said handing me a large glass of red wine.

Was he aware of anything? I suppose I should have been ashamed of myself, how could I do this? Tom had become a friend, albeit a recent one. The truth is I was ashamed, but not enough to give up my own happiness. I’d only met Tom because of my affair with Anna; I selfishly told myself that this made it all right.

I’d told no one about Anna. None of my old friends were aware as far as I knew; as I’m sure we would be friends no longer. This was something else we would have to face… if we saw our relationship through.

Would she, could she, or indeed could I? The questions hung over our lives like a dark cloud. There was only one way to find the answers.

The party was over and I was drunk as usual and a little morose due to my conversation with Anna.

“Help me with the clearing up, Alan”.

Julia had noticed I was staring into space.

“Leave it until the morning”.

“No way…! It shouldn’t take long with two of us, and you need to sober up a bit before bed… I don’t want you being sick again”.

I looked around the room… it looked like a bomb had hit the place, she was right; I began stacking the dishes. I could sense through my wine sodden brain she was building up for something, the talk of moving must have set her off…shit! I didn’t want to get into this now.

“What the hell is wrong with you” I asked.

Julia was almost pacing around the room; she stopped….

“Alan…I want you to tell me what is going on between you and Anna?”

The words took an age to sink in to my wine befuddled brain, but when they did it was like a bolt of lightning arriving. I turned away to gather myself.

“What do you mean?”

Hoping I’d misheard her.

“I think you know what I mean. I was going to wait until the later in the weekend to discuss this… but with your behavior tonight you have forced my hand”.

I stood frozen in the moment. The world started spinning, had we really been that obvious?

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

It sounded weak… but it was all I could come back with.

“Well let me show you… you bastard” she said scattering an envelope of photographs on the table beside me.

I looked, and it was all there, the meetings we had thought were so well planned, even a photo of the flat with us kissing outside.

“I’ve made a decision… I want you to leave right now… tonight. I have already contacted a solicitor; as the evidence is damming I expect no challenge from you in your defence”.

My senses were in complete disarray, there was nothing I could say.

“I am going to take you for as much as I can. You’re a complete and utter fool… what’s happened to you? You have ruined all our lives, all our hopes and dreams flushed down the toilet…for what? A bit on the side with that slut who said she was my friend”.

The venom in her voice said more than her words. She turned and stormed out.

I stood in the centre of the room my senses reeling. I can remember shouting at the top of my voice… four letter words one after the other. I was seeing my world crashing down to nothing but a pile of shit.

If I hadn’t followed her things may have ended differently, but I did. As she started to run up the stairs I grabbed her by the hair trying to stop her. In my anger I pulled her back… she crashed to the floor lying there screaming at me. I grabbed her around the throat, it was only to try and stop her screaming… and I did. She will never scream again.

Within a heart beat I had sobered up and was trying to think of an answer that would justify my actions… there was none. I went upstairs and grabbed a few things and without further thought I left

I should never have been driving, I was also past caring. Thank God it was late and there was a hotel not that far; I made it without incident. Had I been stopped I don’t know what I might have done.

I can remember thinking clear as a bell… ‘It was as well the kids were at her mothers or god knows what would have happened’.

The morning came with a bang. I must have passed out not long after I got to the room. My hangover kicked in… I needed coffee to give me time to think. Thank God it was Saturday and I was not expected in the office. I headed for a café I knew just outside of town, ordered and went in search of a quite seat to gather my scattered senses. I reasoned that if Julia knew about the affair then Tom must as well. I dialed Anna’s number on my mobile and waited for her voice, it was the answer phone that took the call telling me to leave a message.

“Hello Anna, it’s me Alan, ring me back please”.

I waited there for an hour… but the reply never came. I wanted to speak to her before I gave myself up.

This was all of two years ago. The memory remains on permanent rewind, ready to play back at any moment I request it. I never heard from Anna again. I understand that Tom took her back and that they moved away. My kids were taken in by Julia’s parents. I pleaded guilty of course, and was sentenced to fifteen years; with time off I could be out in twelve to face an uncertain future. But at least I could have a future… that’s something Julia lost the day I killed her.

I’ve never spoken of this before, I wanted there to be an explanation…. for the others involved. I’m not looking for forgiveness, there can be none. I needed to get it out so as to understand it myself; tell my children I have always loved them and……

I’m so sorry.

Charles stood, one foot on the base of the trench ladder, left hand holding the outer rail, his Webley pistol hanging by its lanyard ready to grab at the top, in his mouth a whistle. His whole body was shaking… he was petrified. He looked along the line of men either side of him. In less than three minutes he, and others like him, would blow their whistles and the whole of the western front would climb out of one hell only to arrive in another.

They stood in lines by the ladders, stretching out in both directions, impossible to see them all, as the trenches zigzagged to avoid more deaths if a trench took a direct hit. The British artillery had been pounding the enemy trenches for days. All would go well, they were told, a stroll in the sunshine… after four years of war they all knew better.

He had volunteered a year ago, later than some of his compatriots. His parents had not wanted him to; the family estates needed him. His father’s ill health after returning from the Boer war rendered him useless at decisions. In the end, he could no longer look some of the villagers in the eye. Their sons and fathers went in the first rush, most now dead or injured, coming home blinded, or with limbs missing…he had to go. He was commissioned and came out a Captain, served several weeks in training; the short supply of officers meant an early release to the front. He soon discovered the short supply was due to the amount of officers killed in their first action.

Most of the men had recently arrived, fresh troops brought in to replace the losses from the last push; though some in the line had been over the top before. The stories from the old hands were seized upon as if simply talking to those who had survived would give you protection from the German guns. If you believed headquarters the guns would be silenced by British shell fire. In truth it wasn’t difficult to believe, surely nothing could survive the terrible onslaught now hitting the trenches just a few hundred yards away.

They were to advance under a creeping barrage, moving forwards less than one hundred yards behind the bursting shells, covering fire to get them within the German lines, before they came out of hiding. That was the plan. It sounded like suicide to Charles…bad enough to be killed by the Germans.

He spoke out loud without realizing, the same words he had written at the end of his last letter home.

“Please God get me through this, let me lead these men with honour and bring them home from this awful war.”

One minute to go, the men were starting to shout to each other, swearing, cursing all Germans; some were reciting the Lord’s Prayer out loud. He felt his stomach lurch and the whistle dropped from his lips. He stepped back into the trench and replaced it with his free hand. Nervous laughter greeted this.

“Come on now men, let’s show the Hun what Englishmen are made of… and remember, hold the line abreast on each side, do not advance ahead of the line. Stay with me”.

His mouth was dry, it came out a hollow gesture, and sounded less than convincing; it was all he could think of.

The flare went up announcing the advance; he blew his whistle and climbed the ladder. All along the trenches men were doing the same, thousands of them streaming into the sunlight of No Man’s Land, running towards the wire several hundred yards in ahead of them.

What confronted them was a vision of Hell, devastation on a scale unimagined; a sea of mud, filth and desolation that four years of constant warfare had wreaked upon the landscape. They moved forwards into that hell, scrambling over the dead and the dying. Wounded men were falling into shell holes never to get out; sucked down into the morass of mud and blood by the weight of their equipment. There was no time to help them… to stand still was to die.

Charles, whistle still gripped between his teeth, charged on towards the wire. Blinded by the dust and earth flung up in front by the guns, he could only guess how far they had advanced. Looking around he could see others, slowing now, but resolutely moving forwards.

“Hold the line, stay with me… listen for the whistle”.

The dead lay everywhere. He had thought he was at the front, Why were there dead in front of him? He realised they must be from a previous attack; some of the helmets looked German.

He continued to blow his whistle; God knows why, he thought, who could hear it above the noise. There was the sound of bees. Was it bees? He felt himself falling; there was no pain… just astonishment.

Please god not into a shell hole. I don’t want to drown in shit.

He lay there. The bees must have been bullets. He’d been shot. Why did he ever think they were bees? He could hear the German machine guns raking across the advancing troops. Why weren’t the Germans all dead? Why him and not them? Was he to die out here in No Man’s Land?

Someone stopped and looked at him. Charles watched him as he reached down, picked up a fallen rifle and stuck the muzzle into the earth by its bayonet, placing Charles’ hat on the butt. The man ran on.

‘He thought I was dead’.

Charles was spurred into action. He tried to raise himself up; one leg was working…just. He checked his body with care. His arms seemed to work. His other leg was a mess of blood and torn material. He had a pain in his right side, the same side as his injured leg. He felt under his jacket and his hand came out covered with blood.

“Help! Help me please…. is anyone there? Can anyone hear me?”

Shouting made him feel dizzy. He lay back again. ‘I’ll rest a moment’. The noise of the battle was further away now. Did this mean the attack was succeeding? Soon he knew the stretcher bearers would be searching for the wounded; he vowed to be one of them.

“I will not die here on this day.”

He clawed his way into a sitting position, started singing to himself, reciting poetry; anything to take away the fear. It was not so much dying he was afraid of, it was dying here, in the mud…without ever seeing the enemy. A random death.

Later that day they found him, near death from loss of blood. He had been hit three times and was lucky to be alive.

“You’ll be alright Sir, soon have you patched up and back in the line.”

The hotel room was closing in on me. I needed to get up,

to get out; but the past held me there.

I was listening to Joni Mitchell.

She was singing about a Chelsea morning, asked me to stay,

said “we’ll put on the day and wear it till the night comes”.

Sounded like a plan. She sang of other things that made no sense…

but the breakfast sounded good.

Maybe it was the wine, but I was talking back to her.

I’ve loved Joni all my life, we’ve never met; but I don’t let that stop me.

When Joni sings nothing else matters.

Joni told me she looked at clouds from both sides now,

it was all an illusion, life an illusion; just another show.

Well I know about that alright.

The whole fucking thing is one big illusion;

life is hard and then you die.

It was going well… so I poured another glass.

We moved on to our relationship. She was alone in California,

wrote that she loved me; but didn’t know where to send it.

Said she missed me but didn’t know where she stood. Well I told her…

She lived in 1969 with flowers in her hair and a big toothy grin.

Had a guitar that looked too big for her; and sang like an angel.

I told her I would cross the ocean just to sit at her feet.

Joni sang that she met me on a Midway at some kind of fair.

“I stood out like a ruby in a black man’s ear” she said

“I was playing my guitar like a devil wearing wings”

I had no idea what she was talking about….I was never that good;

but I could pretend. I asked her why she never made Woodstock?

She wanted to, but was otherwise engaged…

“Did I like her song?”

You bet your sweet arse I did Joni…

I was up there on one of your clouds singing it with you.

She was saying “when first she saw my gallery, she liked the ones of ladies”.

I had to admit there’s been one or two, I couldn’t wait for ever.

A man can’t live on songs alone; I need a little company from time to time.

Joni thought she understood

“Fear was like a wilderland…

all stepping stones

on sinking sand”.

Joni could be as deep as the ocean sometimes.

Sadly I wasn’t with her back then, except in spirit,

but I always thought one day…..

Hands resting on me,

holding me in place.

Fingers running through the fabric of my life;

looking for dropped stitches.
She said

“I see life as a tapestry…

your place upon its length.

Our journeys may be different,

but all roads are the same;

the destination pre- ordained….

from cradle to the grave”.
I asked

“Could she but see the time

my stitches come undone,

so many twists and turns…

how many days left in the sun?”
Her eyes clouded over,

the truth became too clear;

she didn’t need to tell me…

I would not be long for here.
I crossed her hand with silver,

thirty pieces seemed enough.

My life betrayed before my eyes,

I’d found my place

to stop.

We wait becalmed on an endless journey

across the deep blue sea.

Slack sailed and praying for a wind

to end our misery.
Each of us alone with thoughts

of where we would rather be,

knowing only that we are here;

and ‘what will be… will be’
Trapped like the rats in the bilges below

not thought of or treated better.

Press ganged to a life before the mast

with tales of rum and treasure.
The stories of fortune and of fame

now sunk in the depths of despair;

as days go by the tempers rise

with no wind to clear the air.
We set sail from Plymouth town

for Drake’s passage beyond the Cape,

no one dare speak to say the words

‘Turn back fore’ all’s too late’.
The captain lost in thought stands tall

a spyglass to his eye,

he scans the endless ocean…

with him ‘it’s do or die’.
He looks for wind- for white topped waves,

a sign to save us all….

“Lower the boats!” I heard him cry

“And pull towards that squall”.
“Come on now lads” the first mate shouts

“Or may God curse us all”

Six boats are out…the ropes spring tight

It’s… ‘‘Pull boys now with all your might’’.
We sailed for Valparaiso

on the fourteenth of July,

the year was sixteen forty two

and I was fit to die.
A wife was waiting at home that day

and not the mornings tide,

no chance to say my ‘fare thee well’

or see my children cry.
One hundred and fifteen souls aboard

make the Captain and this crew;

fifteen will die, one will be hung

before this voyage is through.
In three long years we should be home

no more to roam the seas…

If I have a wife standing on the shore

still waiting there for me.

It was the time of night when ghosts walk,

people talked of wishbones and dream times.

We were sitting around an oak dining table

breaking bread together…

sharing a bottle of wine;

relaxing in that ‘oh so’ familiar scene.
Old friends – new friends

like moths around the flame,

sifting through their memories;

like a newly discovered game.

Leading each other word for word,

and hand in hand;

for a stroll down memory lane.
How many times have I spent

basking in this warmth

of friendships freely given.

Looking around the room,

feeling the glow, I realise

these are people who care…

if I win or lose.
When all else is lost

to the winds of time,

raise your hands in surrender.

These friends will gladly take a stand,

and take your outstretched helpless hands;

to guide you back to the safety

of this wondrous room.
If some friends fall along the way

others will come to save the day.

Of those that are now long gone…

or simply passed away;

there is always memory lane to walk down.

They will be there…

as you will be.

Take this heart I offer you

and all that lives within,

tell me something I can cling to

when the world’s as dark as sin.

Quench the fire that’s in my blood,

before I am consumed;

for I will surely die of love

as deep as any wound.
Hold my hand and guide me

through the labyrinth of lies.

Show me there’s a place for me

for ever by your side.

Rest inside my warm embrace

your heart is safe with me;

I will love you all my life…

for we were meant to be.
Let me hold you close

in the twilight of our years,

build a wall around us;

where there are no more tears.

Take this love, keep it safe;

for it belongs to you.

Let it live within your heart

the whole of our lives through.

‘We live in dangerous times’

Her words, a knife at my throat.
Explain? I asked.
‘There is always a danger of exploitation ‘

She offered…..

arousing my expectations.
Exploitation? I questioned.

Falling headlong into her verbal embrace.
‘Love is but a fragile thing,

if you drop it, will its beauty not shatter; like a glass rose?’

‘It’s said that if you love something

you must set it free.

That love should be unconditional; undemanding.
My love is of a different kind…

I may never set you free.

I will drop you many times

to watch you break, find enjoyment

in picking up your pieces to build you again.

I will demand everything…

be denied nothing.

My conditions will be more than you can afford…

I will want your life as my private domain.
And in return?

My voice trembling, as I fell under her spell.
I will bind you with your wildest dreams,

lock you up in your darkest fantasies,

Nothing will be forbidden, or overlooked;

Until I tire of you.

Then, you can return to your ordinary world.
Only then will I set you free;

for I will no longer love you…..

If I ever did.