I remember the fights the most. I think it was a good thing. I mean, it meant you cared. I remember that last fight. You hated me that day, perhaps more than any other day. I had been out late. When I came back I admit I was a little drunk. It wasn’t the drinking that upset you though. I know now what it was. It was that I didn’t act like there was anything wrong. Of course there was. I don’t need a doctor or psychoanalyst to tell me that now.
‘I think you want everything to be perfect.’ That was what she said. Well, who doesn’t want perfection? All it was, I had found a fault in the seam of her dress that day. I wanted to be helpful. I even wanted to help repair it myself.
‘Everything is not perfect’ she went on. I remember saying under my breath ‘nothing is perfect, my love’, but I don’t think she heard me. She hit me. She hit me hard. Maybe she had heard me thinking about it. I did nothing though. I think she would have wanted me to kiss her more, or just hold her or something. But I didn’t. You see, when things tend to get too dramatic I like to take a seat and watch it unfold. I don’t like being in the middle of any drama you see. In fact, I take that back. The seat bit. I don’t like watching it unfold. Honestly, I just don’t like it. I mean who wants drama? I definitely don’t go chasing that kind of stress. It surprises me though that it seems to follow me around. It’s like a mosquito that can’t get enough of my blood.
Well, we stood staring at each other that night. She was crying and I envied her that. I didn’t want her to think I didn’t love her so I tried crying myself. It must have looked pretty terrible and obviously fake as she hit me again. I felt like a fraud. ‘You can’t even cry!’ she screamed. ‘What’s the matter with you? Are you too perfect to cry now? Why do you do this to us?’ The truth is I didn’t know. In a way, I think I needed her to get over the pain or something else. I don’t doubt that I loved her. Fuck, isn’t it clear that I still do? My love, you’re all I dream about I promise.
If anything could pacify my ghosts though, it was her. She seduced me with words, where wisdom surged from that flowing accented English. It was when she told me that the moon was ours that I knew I would love her always. She had said that we would never be fully apart. I remember: ‘Look to the moon and I will be watching it too. There is only one. If it holds your eyes, then as I look into it, I will see your eyes too. With our eyes held together we are one. The moon is ours.’ She told me I could always find her in our moon. If ever I felt lost just look to the moon and she would be there. ‘When there is a night you’re not at my side, look to the moon and find me there. I will be looking at that same moon. I will be looking into your eyes. You will know the depth of my love.’ That was a better day. I like to think of that day the most. Those words were perfect if nothing else.
Countless moons have passed and I still see your eyes. I float on their clear skies and I am briefly at peace. You brought me so much happiness my darling beautiful. I failed you when I got caught up in those clouds. You gave me hope and a new life if only for a little while. I would always give my love to you, but it had always belonged to someone else I had failed. That wall you mentioned, I guess.
I have learnt in life that eyes are the most telling instrument. A struggling eye can easily misread, and mine have often failed me. I wish I could ask you to be my sight now, Blondie. Show me every path and distinguish wrong from right. It was always too hard to let you in when I never had an iron-mind. I wish my heart were stone. I am sorry for any pain I caused you. For I hold you so deeply in my veins where there is no escape, only a love so tender that every trickle of blood is a tear in memory of you.
