Whispers and Wanderings

Introduction Welcome to final of three short stories about a friendship and unrequited love. It is a universal story. Perhaps you have experienced the feeling of loving someone who could not love you? Perhaps you are the one that was loved and could not love back? Either way, you are changed. Perhaps stronger somehow - certainly wiser? Or perhaps not?   If you have arrived at 'The Meeting' without having first read Parts One and Two, please take some time to catch up on Matthew's and Rachel's stories first. THE MEETING  Escaping from the cold wet November evening, Matthew entered the Little Pub on the Corner. The sultry, melancholic voice of Nina Simone was playing through the speaker by the door, intermingling with the buzz of quiet conversation. Logs crackled in a fire that was blazing in the hearth and, feeling the heat from the flames, he took off his coat and wandered to the bar.  He felt so tired, it had not been a hard day at the office, but he was preoccupied...

Introduction This is the second of three short stories about friendship and unrequited love. If you have arrived at Rachel's story without having first read Part One, please can I recommend that you leave this page for a while and visit Matthew's Story before continuing. Thank you. RACHEL'S STORY Rachel was awake. Lying on her side facing the window, she watched as the orange glow of the streetlight danced on the half closed blind. She listened to the sound of Matthew's breathing, letting its steady rhythm comfort her. Moments like this felt perfect - she could almost believe that he might feel the same way she did, but she knew now that he did not. "I love you," she whispered, not meaning for him to hear. But he did. She felt him tense beside her and braced herself for his response, knowing what he would say but still hoping for something different. "I like you very much," he said softly, his tone steady and controlled. Rachel swallowed hard as she ...

Introduction This is the first of three short stories about a friendship and unrequited love. Rather than using first person narration, I have chosen the voice of an omniscient narrator to try to offer a more detached perspective. I hope you enjoy it. MATTHEW'S STORY. Unable to sleep, Matthew lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of his dimly lit bedroom. The soft orange glow of the streetlight outside filtered in between the slats of the half-closed blinds, casting faint, criss-crossed shadows on the walls. Beside him, Rachel stirred, turning toward him with a contented sigh. Her fingers grazed his arm, and he could feel her smile even without looking. "I love you," she whispered, her voice soft and sincere.  Matthew's stomach tightened. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, trying to push away the guilt that threatened to rise inside him. This wasn't the first time she had said those words. Each time she said them, it stung a little more, a reminder of a bounda...

This story was born on a cold Sunday evening in late February. It was the end of a quiet, unproductive weekend, spent alone, doing nothing but watching tv, reading, eating. You know those kind of days - we all have them - idle pointless days.  This particular evening I was joined in my night time ablutions by a fly. It was restless, trapped and seemed to me to be in distress. Taking pity on the little insect, I climbed out of the bath, carefully trapped it under a glass and let it out of the window. As I settled back under the bubbles I found myself wondering what it would be like to talk  with a fly, what it would say if we could communicate. The story, which follows, is how I envisage my the conversation would have gone on that wet, empty evening.  THE PHILOSOFLY  I am sure that the fly didnt mean to end up in my bathroom that evening, but I felt genuinely happy to have it's company. It had been a long and empty winters day and, other than the droplets of rain run...

Below is a homage to William Wordsworth's poem "I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud" (1802) and also to the poem "London" by William Blake (1794). These are two of my favourite poets from the "Romantic" era.  I have named the poem "Politics". I can't call it an original but I hope you like it ... POLITICS  I wandered lonely through the streets, where voices rise and often meet, In crowded halls where power is sought, and leaders fight with words distraught. The banners waved, the speeches loud, a sea of faces in the crowd, Yet deep inside, a sense of gloom, for truth and trust seem bound in doom. I saw the promises they made, to heal the wounds, to fix the trade. But underneath, the cracks appear, where greed and lies both persevere. I heard the clashing firey cries, as untruths soared to touch the skies, But in the quiet of the mind, a peace was lost, no hope to find. Yet through this chaos if you roam, a thought will rise, like birds that comb...

A SPRING SUNSET  The sun dips low in skies aflame, A quiet close, yet not the same. It spills its gold on field and tree, And leaves a gentle glow with me. The breeze is soft, the colours wide, And though there’s no-one at my side, I smile and breath the evening air, And feel the peace that lingers there. I dream of someone yet to find, A kindred soul, a steady mind. Someone to share this quiet light, And watch this blue sky turn to night. But for today the sky is mine, A gift of colour, calm, a sign. That something good is drawing near, A warmer wind, a voice to hear.