...because you never know

‘til death do us part

She did not know how long she had lain there.

It was dark now and a trickle of something sticky was smarting in her left eye.

Lifting her head was too difficult, her whole body was heavy, the throbbing pounded into the cold tiles, but she managed enough to glance upwards at the clock on the oven.

3 am.

Tears came flooding then, from nowhere really, just like someone had opened the faucet and whoosh down came the flood.

The eye stinging felt worse than before. What was that sticky? Her foundation? Hair gel? Honey? ……Blood? Merging with the saltiness of her.

Flashes of the past jumped in and out of focus.

The slamming of doors, a vase smashing against the wall, the pearl necklace ripped from her neck, sending the bright baubles bouncing over the centre island table, tip tip tip as they jumped up and over the Marratzi patterns, on which she was now outstretched.

She could see one of them in the corner of the room. How perfect it looked against the grey.

to cherish

His skin seemed too soft for a man. She liked to slide over his body when he was least expecting it. Grabbing him from the side. Imagining that they were Siamese twins and joined at the hip. She wanted to envelope him into her and sweat him out of her every pore, so that she could smell of him. His kisses were so soft, gentle, and careful, then rough and tough and rolling. How had they not known each other before now and yet today be so embedded in each other that it hurt to be apart.

As he stood in the kitchen, folding hair behind his ear, she watched his fingers closely. They slipped slowly back down to the cutting board and took grip tightly, dicing the carrots with the sharp knife in his other hand. Chopping, shredding then tossing them into the pan. Even such a basic act was glorious and profound when he did it. Like in movie magic slow motion he turns to her and smiles as she watches. Throwing a carrot tip in her direction. Playful, serene, comfortable.

to hold

She could feel his stare heating up the back of her head, the back of her neck, the back of her back. No, wait that was last week. What time is it now, 6? She could hear the clink of milk bottles outside, yes 6, it must be 6. Was he watching her still? Checking her. Assessing her. Things had gotten tense after the day she had slipped and forgotten to mention where she was going. Who she was meeting? What she was doing? All innocent, but things had never quite been the same after that. She rolls over in the bed and pulls the covers on top of her head. The smell of the bed sheets reminded her of the rose petals that he had spread across them when they had first bought the bed. She thought it was a little too much really, a romantic gesture sure, what one is supposed to do perhaps, not original at all. A little cheesy in fact. But now maybe a few petals would be, no don’t think about it, just tell him.

I

Had he left for good this time or was this just another one of his threats that seemed to be happening with growing frequency these days. She had even joked about it being his time of the month and not hers, his moods too aligned with the moon. “It’s not that I don’t care for you“ he would say and his eyes would say “I love you” he would say “you are the only one I want” and his eyes would say “I’m not feeling it today” and he would say “I will be with you forever” he would say “it’s not you, it’s me” and he would say “You are adorable” and his eyes would say “you are mine“ he would say and his eyes would say “I am yours” and his eyes would say “I do” and his eyes would say “I don’t”.

for worse

She could feel the hardness on her cheek, flattening her skin.

The cold porcelain tiles were freezing the side of her face and chest.

She realized she was wearing the camisole he had given her.

The stickiness and the saltiness were blending.

Seeping over the bridge of her nose and down the opposite cheek.

The clock on the oven now said 12.

to have

Your neediness was suffocating. “Come see what I’m doing now”, “hey join me”, “look at this”. “What do you think?” “How does this look on me?” Never can I be left to just be. Be me. You are in the bathroom now. It will only be a matter of time before you summon me in there to watch you bathe. Really? It used to be fun. We would chat for hours in there. I would sit on the toilet, you in the bath, it used to be romantic. It used to be.

I picked you up from the floor, many times. Found you crawling like a baby and bawling too, “what’s gotten into you?”, I thought, “this is pathetic”, I thought.” “You’re supposed to be strong” I thought. I was sympathetic on the outside and yet on the inside. I wanted to run a mile into the arms of another, a firefighter, coast guard member or carpenter, a Saviour from the movies that, you know, is the type that rescues you. Carries you over broad shoulders to some log cabin in the wilderness and hand chops the wood for the fire. Don’t we all deserve that? It was promised. Not the other way around. I’m always picking up the pieces of you that you throw across the floor.

Spitting at you in my drunken state. Spitting at me in your un-drunken state.

Emotional comas in front of the latest video game of the season, and boy was there always a new season.

Can’t you just talk to me when I ask you what’s going on. What are you thinking? What do you want?

“Too many questions” you say “not now” you say “it’s work” you say “leave me alone” you say.

“This is exhausting” I say.

for richer

You run your fingers along my body, the lightest touch. Like an incy wincy spider climbing up the spout.

The flesh of my flesh warms against yours, tingles in the sunshine. Picnics in the park with fizz. Your smile, my smile. My heart is out of my body and overshadows the earth. Stars live in your eyes and are resting on me. We are the galaxy and immortal. Time has stopped and we have everything we will ever need in this moment. Your breath on my neck, your hand in mine. We keep touching and will never want to let go, like magnets we will be snapped together always.

I feel like I dreamt you up, that you are not real, A figment of my imagination. My other alter ego that I can rely on to be with me, comfort me, always. A fragment that slots into the gap that is my existence so well that we become. I was walking blindfold before you and now the world and my future are clearer, brighter, more alive. You are more than I could ever wish for. If am asleep, I never want to wake from this bliss.

I wake up

from this day forward

In the cold light of day, I stare at you as you sleep beside me. You repulse me, I long for you. You scold me, I scold you. We say unkind words that we do not mean, but we do and so it bleeds deep. We make up. We should some more. A tug of war begins. New ropes hang between us. The absent days grow longer, we lightly tread around each other, barely speaking. A nod here, half a smile there. We spend our evenings on screens to avoid conversations, using syllables we don’t have sentences for. Photographs hold onto the happier times that we no longer recall.

And eventually, the branch breaks, and on that day, you will leave, and you WILL leave, and when you leave, I will try to stop you. For the last time. I know you should go but I can’t let you. I will grab you and pull you back towards me, I will scramble with all my might to absorb you into me, so you cannot exist without me, not outside of me, or at all.

I will fall as you push me away. I’ll reach out again, run after you and I will fall, I will fall hard on to those tiles. My pearls will break into pieces as the hand that holds them twists, reaching down to cushion the fall. I will hit that ground and sob. You will look down at me with regret, with disgust, with longing and last shards of love left.

You will want to stay, pick me up from the floor, hold me in your arms again and stroke my head as I kiss your neck, yet you will leave anyway.

to love

As the door slams behind you, in between my gasps for the little air left in the room, I whisper “come back”, not loud enough for you to hear, as I know that it’s better that you don’t.

It was 10 am.

[end]

….because you never know is a reimaging in written form of The Poem Film Never Say Never Say Never, released in 2016. The piece explores the moments that the two characters may have embarked upon during their relationship, and its ultimate breakdown, that was implied by the film, inspired by the poem. The characters explored here are purely fictional and in no way are representative of true events that may have led to the writing of poem nor the direction of the film. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

Never Say Never Say Never is a poem film created by Adele Myers inspired by the original poem written by Patrick Errington.

The short film is based on an original poem written by Patrick Errington. The poem was commended in the National Poetry Competition 2016, Poetry Society (UK). This film was commissioned by FilmPoem and the original video adaptation was produced entirely in Fujairah UAE.

Watch the film here:

Adele Myers is an Artist and Filmmaker living in Fujairah UAE, where she primarily teaches Filmmaking in the HCT Applied Media program.

Her own film work, includes creating poem film adaptations. These films have been screened internationally in film and literature festivals as well as Art Galleries, including a retrospective of her work at Dimensions Arts Centre, Chongqing China

Some of these festivals include; London Short Film Festival and Bristol Encounters Short Film and Animation Festival, Underwire, BAFTA Marketplace and Kendal Mountain Film Festival in the UK and Zebra Poem Film Festival, PosieFest and Tarp, IndieCork, Cyclop Festival, Ginsberg Film Festival and World of Women Festival in Dubai.

In 2014 and again in 2017 she was invited to create work for The Poetry Society’s prestigious National Poetry Prize, creating work, which uses dance to explore the shapes and rhythm of the poems’ themes. Never Say Never Say Never is her second poem film created for the The Poetry Society.

Also the founding member and artistic Director of Bokeh Yeah! Originally launched in Manchester as a DSLR Film Academy, providing video and production training, networking and film opportunities for creatives based in UK. The group under her direction has produced numerous poem films and music videos that have gained international recognition. Since her move to the UAE, she has adapted the educational ideas of the group to host poem film workshops in both China and Zimbabwe. She is currently investigating new forms of narrative creation in film and literature.

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