Tenacious

To cling to the past was never an option
When all there was about it was a shred
Of something that never was, not real,
Not shared, not the dream it had meant
To be, the one that romances and stories
Had implanted in his head, where there
Were only happy endings, and all tears
Were happy ones. This wasn’t it.

What he held on to instead was the hope
That love wasn’t a myth, that it existed
In its pure form somewhere in someone
Whom he hadn’t yet met, whom he might
Never meet. He grinned grimly into the
Grey rain of another Friday, felt for his
Passport in his pocket, stood tall under
The weight of the backpack and walked
Onto the ferry away from England.

R 26/02/2025 20:40