A thank you

I am self-aware enough to know it can be a bit of a bore

When I’m unsure and feeling mentally sore

It’s a chore I know to put up with the downs

And the frowns and the constant go-rounds of me

When I’m not free of the psychological debris

That’s like a dog with a bone and I moan

And I moan

And I moan

But you see - you are here, abating my fear and I’m no longer One but We.

And when I am MAD

Or SAD

Or even BAD – you still care

Do you know that’s incredibly rare?

I’d go so far as to say, in your words; it is RAD.

When I am scared or unprepared or waking up shouting

From a nightmare – oh look! – You are there.

Being is hard

When there’s that sharp pointy shard

Of dark matter running through

Seemingly stuck with superglue, but you!

You soften the edges and make me feel new.

This is a mere gesture but I want you to know

I understand the pressure of caring for one so frequently undone

By a brain, quite insane, almost going down the drain,

So please know I am grateful

And it feels well, fateful that I’m part of your life

Your soon to be wife, in trouble and strife

And I am here, my dear, for you as well

In life’s heaven and hell, or the something in-between.

We are seen at our best and our worst by those who care the most

And we, you and me, will face down the ghosts

From our past and our present;

The ghasts of the night we’ll chase into the light

Come the dawn – reborn,

To try

And try

And try again

With a gentle holding of hands

And a kiss – oh the bliss -

That you understand.

The Man and The Mouse

22:32
He laughed at the brazen mouse, poking his head above the parapet of the platform.  The other people stood waiting for the High Barnet-bound train turned their judgemental eyes towards him and looked not at all at the mouse.

22:33
The mouse sniffed, looked about him and disappeared. The Edgware train roared into the platform and paused, for breath.  He hoped the mouse was not caught beneath its wheels.

22:34
The mouse shook.  The ache and grind of the the monster's wheels never ceased to scare him.  He was a sham of an underground mouse. Hardy, fearless, thumbing his nose at the Big People - the mouse had never been that mouse.  He revelled in the "art of the tube" posters, he gorged on the 1930s prints of London attractions gone by. If he'd have known what it meant, he would have described himself as an Arts mouse, an aesthetic mouse, a mouse destined to appreciate greater things.

22:35
The man on the platform shuddered slightly as he watched the mouse scuttle across the tracks, fearless and brazen;  the people on the platform entirely disregarded by the mouse.  Suddenly the mouse poked his small, inquisitive nose above the platform edge.  The man jumped back and involuntarily emitted a scared squeak of his own.   Ashamed, he glanced about him.  His fellow platform dwellers feigned disinterest. What, he wondered, is worse? Disparagement or studied indifference?