The Terror Of Love

a young boy

The Terror Of Love

Out with my son,

a too rare event,

on a weekend,

even rarer,

we eat and drink and talk

like solid old friends,

and I’m silly happy to realise

that is what we are now.

We wander through the eating places

and the bars of the city,

places known to him but new to me.

Late in the evening,

I realise that I didn’t absorb them,

these new places,

I didn’t note their sounds or smells

or the feel of them, the sensation

of being in that bar in that moment.

I have noted my son instead.

He has occupied

my thoughts and feelings


I am terrified.

A contained man,

surrounded by distance,

out of touching,

I don’t let people in.

It is a Defence.

Alone, you can’t be left

by anyone.

If your heart is closed,

it cannot be entered,

it cannot be pierced from within.

But my heart is open to him, my son,

broken open by his smile,

his kindness,

his warmth,

his love.

I see that now, and it is terrifying

how much I love him.

2 thoughts on “The Terror Of Love

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