old photo’

A photograph from 30 years ago, kept clear & colourful by being hidden, pressed in an old album. Her, standing on beach shingle, hand on head to hold hair away from the wind & I slightly below. Looking up in some kind of adoring way, wanting to capture that beauty.
I knew already that we were to part, that I would not be able to hold on to her much longer, though it would be another year before our final goodbye.
Another photograph of her sitting, reading holds the key of the distance to come. She is comfortable, entranced by what is in her hands and eyes, I am but the watcher, observer, the wanting to capture her.
After this first photo, we found a secluded spot and fucked, it wasn’t a making love, it was a taking, surrendering, a victory of the days we were surrounded by: plentiful, yet pinched by poverty and uncertainty that being poor brings.
Then, being aware we were spied upon, chasing away the extra eyes, yet another indignity of our day. We’d hitchhiked to here from the day before, sleeping overnight in the trees on the side of the road to save the little money we had for things we had to have, food.
And there, there is the knowing why I knew we could not last, here youth and beauty demanded more than I could provide. I was stuck, beleaguered between worlds, a magi who had banished his old world and had yet to conjure a new one.
She was due, owed, babies, a house, comforts and care. These were yet not in my domain, I had no roadmap, no plan to procure and knowing the debt only increased the burden.
When there are holes in pockets and nothing to put in them but empty hands, each day with a waning love is a good day even if you know that these days are numbered.

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