Yesterday...

... I fell over the cat dish. On regaining consciousness I discovered that the neighbours had made off with my wheelie bin and had decided to shave my beard.

`Gosh!` I thought. `How rude.`

I think they doped me, since I lost consciousness. It looks like I am at their mercy.

I am not in danger. I have not been returned to my birthplace however.

Only afterwards did she meet my eyes – chest heaving, breath caught in her windpipe. I smiled, and she nodded back a response, exhausted.

And I felt confident.

`Ah, my crippled one,`you exclaim, in a voice that parodies my own.

`You look upon my eyes. Yes, that one on the left is new. Do you remember, last night, when we were dancing in this smoked filled room? You frolicked and then you fell, and I could not help but laugh, you looked such a brute.`

Long minutes passed while she revealed all the suppressed feeling in her soul … the ones she couldn't display to her family and somewhat she felt free of the burden of tears … she raised her head and dried her face with her sleeve … a light breeze blew on her face bringing with it the savoury scent of the sea.

It has to be done anyway. It's not like I could just pretend this didn't happen. Ever since I had to come home that day and explain to her what had happened I've known I was going to have to do this. At first I told myself that we couldn't afford the risk. Then I told myself that it was too dangerous. Eventually I tried just telling myself to let go. But the reality is I've never let it go. I've carried it in my heart like a weight, and I can't put it down until it's complete.

The sun had not risen for three weeks when the albatross impaled upon the mast, glowing like a full moon. The ship Balthazar sailed into an ever darker night, unable to see what lay ahead. The men were in a deep gloom, blind still in the night, unable to adjust to the darkness because it grew continually black. The albatross' crimson glow lit the deck, and drew the men to stare.

To enter the mind of the bird would be the ultimate experience, but that is an impossibility that neither I nor anyone who is like me shall ever encounter. They have put up so many barriers around them you could never hope to get a glimpse of who they really are. Even if one was to let you into what they think are their true feelings it would all be a facade put there by the matador. A red herring to stop you from looking any further, so you could never see what was behind the velvet drape.