Monday, 16 June 2014

The red shoes

I recall that I thought you didn't like me.  I worried before I met you.  I worried that I wouldn't measure up.  For some time, I thought I didn't.  You were glamourous and free.  I was mismatched and clumsy.

Time past and I realised that I mattered.  You said that you were so happy that I'd stayed in the family.  You told me you loved me.  I never knew that, until that moment.  But you did.  I could see it.  I cried. I held your hand.

You, the woman I felt could fight her way through anything, lost her fight.  But you didn't go quietly.  You had your Boxing Day Party.

In your last moments, you cried out and I felt that I saw you leave.

I wish you were still here.  I would gladly place myself back in those moments where I gripped your best glassware, desperate not to spill red wine on the carpet.  In a heartbeat, I would swap your absence with the time you admonished me for wearing a short skirt.   

I hope the children in the red shoes gave you some comfort, once you went home.

I shall always miss you, my friend.


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