So there is but fire In you, in me?

 The event horizon is the glimmering ring of absolute delusion that surrounds a black hole. Light from past events is trapped at a balance point. Image without form.  To go beyond this balance point is to leave a ghost, an appearance of life as you are crushed into ultimate stasis.  The event horizon is a mirror that reflects only the past. I woke up feeling a familiar dread. It is soon September and the start of the school year.  This feeling shows how much I have not moved on.  I am dreading him working with her as if I don't know, as if it is this time last year.  Telling myself the truth, that this is nothing but a recording of how I felt, but wasn't allowed to express last year, may help, eventually? As I feel this the metaphor changes.  I'm on the Nostromo very quietly getting into my space suit.  The sense of threat; the psychological damage already done, the financial implications, the unknowns that lie like land mines buried in the ground ahead.... I want to blow i

On Friday I was meant to be nice and normal and possibly grateful as I took the invite to eat fish and chips with him. I managed OK (not normal) and I was grateful. But I took the opportunity to ask a question to which I truly needed at the very least a discussion. I got an answer. "No" At which point I should have left. But his hostility (disgust?) left me shaking. I didn't see myself as fit to drive; I needed eye contact and a hug...something to get me back to the land of the living. At some point in the depth of the fear, my anger clicked in. I felt as if I was holding the last remaining photos that show that he is a good man.  All the others, all the snapshots and recordings have been consigned to the bin, or burnt on the funeral pyre. Is he a good man? No, a good man works to mend, to heal, to help... He isn't and he doesn't. And the memory of the past is changed by the experience of the present, of the lies...  Hurt and vulnerability simmered into clarity, I

 I didn't imagine this road yesterday, A snake road as opposed to a ladder. Here is re-bereavement terraces, here is despair boulevard. This is me totally used up, re-fractured, glass ground into concrete. Just came round to get his things. I admit, there had been a certain joy in putting all his family stuff, plates and bowls, books, odds and ends in the box and thinking GONE! That isn't the same as having him come back and load things into his car. Telling me about how sad he is there in his dead parents house, sleeping in the room he slept in as a child - but that's still better than being with me. Because he is so bad, not a good person, not a good man. He says. Not I. All I can say is... Stop this! Mend it... So, re-bereavement is how it feels. As bad as the moment when he left, repeat, and repeat and repeat. It didn't take very long to happen. I tried to avoid it, I was out when he came here...I then went out to hang out the washing.  But tears began there, and th