Heartbreak, Utter Heartbreak

Heartbreak,

Utter

Heartbreak

This was said by the tree.

The Pear Tree.

A Soundly, Godly, Wonderful pear tree that could see and be seen by many a head and eyes.

‘Heartbreak, utter heartbreak.’

That was never wise.

But the rooms were empty, filled with her face. She was everywhere – the walls and streets and ripples of water were her. She had tussled him down with love and giggled at the tickle when fingers met ecstasy.

Oh, she was his everything and that made things fun, but the sun had reminded him so with this–

‘Son, don’t squeeze too tight for one day she might go for need of breath and freedom calls out her name.’

And the same day repeats itself again with her shape no longer in play.

Not dead.

But gone.

The same but not.

A knot. No longer wanting to be untied, for the violin strings break and a volcano shakes and I know that I no longer want shelter.

What? You want to die.? Like Hamlet in the wake of not caring.

BUT WAIT! Don’t die. Don’t throw it all away when there is A knowledge that might be a chance, if kind, that kindness will bring them together again.

‘I love her.’ The Pear Tree said to the wind.

‘I love her so much I knew when I looked into her eyes I found the sound of the Universe was there to eat and feast.’

She was wine on tap and sap was more his thing but her lips were laced with a beautiful sting that flowed of great taste and she was a divine walk in the dark of ok.

‘Shh’ the wind said, ‘I have not knocked on soil to allow me to stand and listen.’

The pear tree smiled. He had lived so long on this land.

‘Tell me more of this love.’ The Wind purred. The soil was strong and bearing great weight.

The Tree grew taller.

‘To kiss, even when it was only so often, was enough for a thousand years a slave.’

But she was a Bigfoot. Tall & on his trunk. And she had to go back to the hilltops: her land. And he was a tree. So could not follow.

Obviously.

Tree alone.

Ha!

Seasons come and go.

Pears on tree.

Time sits still then motions for whizzy planes

To sail on by and say to the tree

Nothing will be the same now that she is truly gone.

Ryanair could save us but the prices are insane.

He thought of all the trees he could be.

The one in Morocco singing their song.

But did Ryanair fly there?

He wanted to know her and roll everything her way but he was rooted and booted and stuck to the ground. Uncertain that he would exist in the future and too fond of nonsense things to listen to mighty feminine advice. ‘I’m glad to hold you in my arms but I know that really you’re gone.’ The Tree said.

The Sasquatch in the tree nodded.

The face was there, imprinted in the trunk, imprinted in his heart.

But the big feet of a big foot with the most beautiful eyes and fur alike, brown floating curls that swirled and dropped like kerplunk. And oh, those legs like a flamingo, well, she was gone.

She was up a mountain!

‘I want to see you. Really see you my Pistachio bear.’ The Tree said.

The tallest, most juiciest bigfoot being ever said ‘I know.’

There was skits of laughter and a xylophone that went plitty plattattie plop.

Then the loose tapped dripped and there was a pause that ached and soaked over those years of love now split open. Featured in every heartache is a moment when the world and the universe ask you if is this is it and if bravery is less than monstrous you make the biggest mistake ever. Treachery of truly true stinking love. You doubt all the brilliance and fate folds in and gives you ashes as two backs walk away and time bangs its head against the wall.

The sun shot its arm upon the crestfallen lovers.

‘Will you fade like me?’ The tree finally said.

‘I don’t know,’ The Sasquatch somehow said back, ‘but I am thinking of you.’

A star arrived far too early and then panicked and shone out its light to avoid embarrassment.

‘OH GREAT!’ The tree with fury spat out.

‘Now even the Gods are conspiring against us. Is this really meant to end? The night is now upon us and here is where dreams do die for me.’

I don’t want this to be a sad song but tell it I must.

The channel I channel is a demon and a God I trust.

Big foot times two finally shouted and bellowed and the snow above a peak was hit by a tongue so piercing the foil hit the tip and this beautiful beast leaped forward and toppled over a blanket of white wilderness.

The kettle was boiling and the strings were lining music out for a swim without goggles, away from shore.

‘Meet me in Marakech?’

‘In my dreams?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Ha! We might need to add another r then!’

‘Oh baby.’

‘Baby!’

‘No. I am a tree.’

‘I am a big soul pretending to be small.’

‘I am leaves and bark and branches that only reach out for you.’

‘Then come reach me. Make my way.’

‘Ha! You said stay. You said it would be suicide in your land.’

The blue of the sky broke through for a moment and Nat King Cole sang a song in Spanish and the sweetness jazzed up affairs. Then Etta James trampled all egos as her music stirred hearts.

A cancan of cans-of beaked beans and pulses and chickpeas and sauces-shimmied on a platter bathed in mozzarella and rose up and slapped them both in the face as cats and dogs looked on with puzzled, hungry faces.

‘Wake up and smell the coffee of love you idiots!’ said the chorus of cavorting cannelloni beans wanting to be different. ‘I love fajitas!’ They all sang.

The tree thought a lot and knew that she was the one that had seen him bare and bruised and brimming with delight when a kiss had meant mouths colliding in sweet fine moments of them. The tree thought and could think no more. The birds flew out.

The squirrel shook its housekeys and ordered taxis.

The tree was reaching out.

‘I love you.

Forever.

I know this. I chased you across that Spanish song and I will chase you again.

I know that we are meant to dance together. Even if you think I can’t move.’

He slook his trunk and hung his hook and slung his anchor above his green shoulder and moved in the most beautiful way. He wobbled a little but that was ok. He heard the tune and stumbled on trusting the one above and below.

‘Oh Mother and Father please be kind. Please hear my cry. Let me trust you and lay my head and arms and face her side.’

And the tree opened up to the world and stretched out all wings and roots that were coiled up and his heart beat like a beast ready to reach evolution’s catapult and love welcomed him and allowed love to find its first friend.

But the sign read – Danger. Let go. You are The Spy of the Old Oak.

And the tree looked at its belly and her face was gone.

She had disappeared.

And he was lonely.

And a spy for old oak and its father The Sun.

But there was the sea. Mighty and calm.

And maybe he might be a boat and continue shining anon.