From: Andrew Stewart MacKay
Category: Other stuff
Date: 06 October 2005
Rowing east towards Home, I loved you with a fervent passion. Quiet, Hot. You removed your shirt, your silhouette against the sun. I reclined nervously against the hard wood, with my back to Home. You stood facing me, pushing against the riverbed. And I loved you with a fervent passion.
And later as we lay on the hard floor, turning in the Heat I loved you with a fervent passion. We were necessarily not alone, but it did not crush a hope that we might silently touch one another, late into the still night, when the World was Ours. Oh, how I loved you with a fervent passion!
Later as the sunlight faded and the leaves fell, something Had to be Done. A letter was written in a fit of tears and yearning, posted in tense, secret darkness. And so It was Done. Released into the world, with uncertain certainties. Oh, how I loved you with a fervent passion.
Suddenly, my bedtime tears falling ceased.
Then a letter appeared, no stamp or address. How did you get it to me? You must have travelled so far. Scrawled in your messy hand, it was short yet sympathetic. Surely one day you will feel differently about things, but it was unconvincing. I knew I would not. I loved you with a fervent passion!
And when all the leaves had fallen as far as they could, we glanced at each other through many faces. You smiled at me, but nobody noticed. Nobody ever did notice our confidences; you were sensitive enough to keep them to yourself, sensitive enough to nurture my Nature, and I thank you. And oh, how I loved you fervently still.
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