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Farewell

Life is apparently very much like the sea. It sees tempests and gale force winds, lulls and quietudes. It ebbs and flows, creates and destroys. People, like the pebbles on a beach, come and go with the flow, are united and scattered.

Tonight, I bid farewell to a Petr, about whom I wrote a few weeks ago and for whom I designed a website, on his last night in London before his flight back to the Czech Republic tomorrow. While on our past few meetings we had seemed to have grown apart (perhpas in preparation of his departure), the strange and fragile bond we seem to have was back in full force tonight. This made the last good byes (almost on the platform of a train station) a little bit awkward.

After I posted about his present (see link above), another friend of mine from the Chorus, by the strangest of coincidences, recognised who I was talking about and sent me a few photos to confirm that we were talking about the same person. He had met Petr about two years ago at a party organised for his best friend's birthday who was living in Prague at the time. I had wanted to tell this episode in the same semi fictional way that I told the story of the cup but had unfortunately not found an appropriate angle for this.

His departure marks another schrinkage in my already almost inexistent social life. Petr was the one person in the past few months which I have seen socially on a regular basis if not that often.

To counterbalance this and as an example of the creative forces of life, we learn from the Other Side, that Slightly has got himself engaged to his (still fairly) new man. All my wishes to the lovebirds.

He is also getting all exciting about his future new bike... Kids!


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No one dead who loved you  Would wish your future years dismembered  Against the rocks of their departure.  They would not sentence you to the guilt of betrayal  For any moment they weren’t uppermost in your mind  Nor would they wish you whittled down like a stick  To pick the stony teeth in the open mouth of abject misery,  Daily, until you are nothing left.  No one dead who loved you  Would want your still-breathing carcass  To be lost in the wilderness  That spans the two worlds of the living and the dead,  Where you are neither dead nor living.  They would not applaud your misery,  But would weep to watch their loss  Made pointless by the waste of you.  The dead become a part of us; our skin, our bones, our thinking;  Their existence is continuous in us  And the best we do in everything  As we move on from the moment of their passing.  Step back from the graveside where nothing flower...