Someone spoke your name and did so with that inflection I used when I called out to you. I am back on your mind.
The scent of wood smoke drifting from a copse on an autumnal afternoon, where we walked as the sun embraced the land for the last time that day. I am back on your mind.
A throaty laugh. A key in the front door. The smell of beer wafting over you. I am back on your mind.
The first warm day of spring, with windows open and sunlight pouring into the house. Blinds raised, curtains drawn and such promise lying ahead.
The sound of the rain drumming on the roof. No wind. That steady rhythmic patter denoting heavy summer rainfall. The sky that peculiar shade of grey that only appears on the cusp of a thunderstorm.
The sensation of sea spray dashed gently against your face. The wind whipping through your hair as that maritime smell hangs in the air.
The cold sting of a frosty morning that greets you as you step from the house, leaving cosy warmth for the icy outdoors. The air sharp and invigorating. You turn to look for me breathing clouds of water vapour into the air, like some grinning dragon, but I am not there am I. Yet, I am back on your mind.
The opening sounds fill the room heralding the start of the quality drama that you can no longer bring yourself to watch alone. The box set lies on the shelf, a dusty veneer testament to its abandonment. Do people see such a layer on you now? You reach for the remote control to mute the instantly recognisable score but somehow your fingers hesitate. I am back on your mind.
Beneath the mirror which taunts you every morning sits two toothbrushes. You mean to remove the second but yet something prevents you from doing so. Your finger touches the bristles and you look into the mirror expecting my ghostly presence to be stood behind you and my lips, those oh so soft lips, to plant that tender kiss on your exposed left shoulder. There is no kiss yet the ghost is there. I am back on your mind.
September the first arrives. You see it first on your mobile ‘phone. My birthday. The date chases you all day. Staring at you from the bottom right hand corner of your laptop screen, from the centre of your tablet, from the desk calendar and from the news reports. Who do I now celebrate my birthday with? Will they be like the ones we shared together? What is the answer? I am back on your mind.
You cut your forefinger on the carving knife as you prepare your evening meal. With a sharp intake of breath, you suck on your finger, the coppery taste leaking into your mouth as you other hand still grasps the knife handle. You let it roll in your hand as you recall how I always prepared the vegetables, a glass of Rioja not far away. I am back on your mind.
Thick buttered toast.
The throb of an engine.
That irritating ringtone.
An empty toilet roll left on the holder.
A forgotten bottle of Worcester Sauce at the rear of the cupboard.
The road sign that points to my home town.
I am back on your mind.
The cracked spine of Brave New World.
The opening strains of Everybody Hurts.
The catchy sample from Better Off Alone.
The never collected box of possessions sat in the spare room.
I am back on your mind.
Then comes the longing, the aching and the hurting.
Then comes the wry smiles, the fingertips circling the still not removed picture, the tears.
Then follows the sobbing, the rising frustration and the churning anger.
Then the aching once again.
I am back in your heart.
The questions arrive. The inquisition that is always expected.
Why did I do this?
How could I do this to you?
What went wrong?
Where did our love go?
Who am I with?
When will this feeling stop?
I am back on your mind.
Questions. Always the questions that come with seldom reprieve and never with answers.
Why did I choose you?
How did it happen?
What am I doing now?
Where did I vanish to?
Who behaves like this?
When will you see me again?
I am back on your mind.
I am back on your mind. I am back in your heart.
How does something feel so good yet hurt so much?
I am back on your mind? I am back in your heart?
No.
I have not come back.
I never left.