I sat there in the prosaic office. My legal counsel presented me with two sets of documents. Nested inside the chartreuse paper was a narrative. A tragic tale of the downfall of two lovers. He craved companionship to conclude his loneliness, she craved safety and a nurturing space in the wake of ruinous relationship. Was it love? If it was, would we still be here? A marriage of convenience that became inconvenient perhaps? Now their worlds collide. An immovable object meeting an unstoppable force. Drafts edited and briefs finalised on a yellow legal pad, the penultimate moment. Lock. Stock. Ready for the smoking barrel? Man your battle stations for the aftermath that will follow.

I drive back in solitude pondering on the fallout, consciously aware that I will forever be the harbinger of the destruction that will follow. Mia Culpa.

Unexpressed emotions now emerging from their lair as I allow myself to feel. A young boy, a lost soul, with only one desire. To curl into a little ball in the lioness’ loving embrace, afforded the safety and security and nurture which he has been forever deprived. He wanders down the rabbit hole blissfully unaware that the crumbs he was thrown which he subliminally consumed were all he would receive from her. Where was she when he needed her the most. What kind of jaded ego allows this kind of apathy towards a vulnerable calf who bared his body and allowed himself to be seen.

I wonder who this is really about? A pattern repeated across generations? Doomed to be slaves to this cycle? How do I teach what I don’t know myself?

Duncan Lawrence signing what I feel. “I spent all of the love I saved but we were always a losing game. Small town boy in a big arcade. I got addicted to a losing game.”

The tears come streaming down my face as the wound smarts again. Mother, wife, lover, the architects of the attempts of my destruction. I dig deep attempting to pull the strength to rise again but I am exhausted.

I lie still in the hole. I lie there to learn. To learn that the love I give is the love I crave. To learn to direct that unstoppable force inwards. To water the desert. To turn it into the oasis it can be.

Seek not the foreign fulfilment you have been taught to crave. Rest this perilous desire in its grave.