On His Departure

You were departing, leaving me.  As you walked away a sharp awareness came upon me.  The world around me was merely a stage.  I headed for the coffee shop in order to settle my feelings by doing something deliberate.  Surrounded by people bustling with trays and animated chatter brought an everyday ordinariness to grasp.

I drank the coffee feeling a strong sense of aloneness.  A familiar struggle started within me, one where I tell myself I must cope with being alone, alone I must be, alone from all these people surrounding me, a huge void that I must conquer and I summon all my strength.

At quarter to seven I hurried to the observation deck.  You were in that odd looking capsule ahead of me.  Mankind had set against me with metal and engines; they had made the power to separate you from me, pluck my soul and leave me spent and empty.

I watched the plane fly out.  It was a rare, fine morning, the hills clearly defined against the blue sky, the air was fresh; a perfect day.  A childhood chord pulled in me, a reflection of my first recollections of the splendour of early mornings.

I wondered how you felt, and hoped you weren’t too tired to enjoy the excitement of flying.  I wanted you to be free and happy, although I was lost. I tried to think of the exultation I would feel on your return, but I couldn’t lose my empty feeling.

After so little rest before your departure, I returned home.  I tried to sleep the afternoon away, but as I lay deep in my pillow I was saturated in thoughts of you.  It was a hot day, one I would normally attack with zest.  The birds were chirping and cicadas screamed in high pitched unison outside my window, all conspiring to keep me awake and hurting in my loss of you.  I wanted sleep to overtake me, but my mind was as alert as a cat.  I was revelling in picturing you, reliving every detail of our last night together and the few weeks we had known each other.  I thought of the way you have of understanding me, relieving me of my nervousness with your calm reassurances, the manner in which you held my hand, guided me, and made me aware of my womanhood, of where I belong, of who I am.

The blue dress hangs there;  I will always think of it as your dress, the dress my heart sang in.

Diasporic Associated content

......

Παρόμοια (Related posts):

  1. Distraught beyond Description By Dionysia  Mousoura-Tsoukala She left her parents’ home to marry...
  2. George – A happening on an Australian beach It was Sunday.  People stood outside the church doors, passively...
  3. The Clocks That Have Not Been Taken Down Yesterday I watched an interview about Cyprus on TV, This...
  4. A Visit to Mykonos As an Australian, my impressions of Greece. Continue reading →...
  5. A Phoenix Reborn Mia fora kai enan kero… Once upon a time, not...

About Gabrielle

I was born in Australia and my ancestors migrated to Australia in the 1850’s from England and Scotland. I live surrounded by the sea on Phillip Island with my husband, Michael, who is a visual artist, printmaker and writer. Together we create. My secretarial working life has been varied, but mainly centered in the fields of travel and medical before I started my own small business, a personalized café. My interest in writing did not develop until after my passion for horses which led me to experience many exciting times when I rode to hounds with the Melbourne Hunt Club. But then by some stirring of the soul, I was drawn to write poetry and my interest in the craft of writing began. Now the muse has completely overtaken me and I have many published articles in newspapers and faith magazines. I have an aptitude for editing which I love and have worked as a researcher and editor for an online travel site. I also edited a mystery novel which has been published by Random House and currently I am editing two novels for a Greek film maker.
This entry was posted in English Literature, Short Story and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

*

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>