sunken treasure
On my last day in Prague I squeezed in more sightseeing. Crossed the Charles Bridge and rubbed the lucky gold dog. Made a wish for your health. You only learned my middle name was Charles when we discussed the bridge that very week. Clearly we'd been busy with deeper discoveries in the eight and a half years beforehand.
So many messages. Countless thoughts back and forth up until I boarded. Memories. Difficult discussions about sharing (or hiding) your illness. Caring confrontations which ultimately helped me comfort important people when they needed it most.
I sent you clips of the final song we worked on. It started as a prayer for your life after recovery, but (months later) turned into a fantasy about the life you were never able to return to. Of course you questioned my eccentric arrangement. Of course you preferred the simple voice note recorded on just an acoustic guitar. I will share both versions one day: for both of us.
Bizarrely, whilst waiting in the departure lounge, I recognised a woman who I usually saw on my commute in South Wales: one of those people who stands out for no discernible reason. I knew it was her from the back of her head alone. Marshall headphones. Wispy hair. Autumn-coloured clothes. I walked around to confirm and told you all about it. How could she be here catching the same flight from Prague to the UK as me when we usually sit on the same train from Barry to Cardiff? It probably meant nothing, but I trusted you enough to share it and not feel like I was mad for noticing.
Fundamentally, love is a declaration that you like and accept what you know about someone and want to know more. You want to keep delving into the interesting, esoteric, complicated and simple details.
Grief forces this to stop in the most horrific way. You can only learn by looking into the past or using your imagination. Returning to old photos. Reading messages. Replaying memories in your mind. You have to abandon visions of the future that you didn't even realise existed. Nothing new feels fully real. Sunken treasure.
Originally posted on 26th January 2024
