I love the way that you remember me, the me, before the shattering.
That day wrapped in costume ordinary, brought with it, great sadness, which tiptoed in behind it.
I floated once, buoyant and resilient. A warrior by nature, fought, lip bitten hard, past childhood fear and isolation.
Neighbours in our twenties, we were beautiful, firm with spring hope, both hungry for compassion.
The libertine heart of my younger self, left broken in the autumn. My worth sliced paper thin, less coin in my pocket, my beautiful career shorn off and I, no longer independent.
It would matter not, if I were loved deeper than the ocean. But I am not, and there is nought that I can say nor wish to do, to convince him, I am worthy.
Will black mould settle in, where once wild flowers grew? A petulant, sulky sky, resentfully lets no sunshine through.
Remember me, as you have known for thirty summers and more, the me, before the shattering, before great sadness tiptoed in behind it.