The Drop

The rain started slowly and then sped up.

Millions of drops, of all different shapes and sizes,

Plunged into the still water of the pond.

The ripples they left behind were all different,

But each was as perfect as the others.

A concentric circle, slowly rolling outwards.

Such is the course of interaction.

I am the pool.

Every encounter is a drop.

No good, nor bad.

Just ripples. Shaping the surface.

But once, in the middle of a downpour,

A drop falls,

No more or less perfect than any other,

And yet,

From that moment,

There will always be before and after

The drop.


The Drop


How life is adorned with twists and turns

And so,

After flitting for so long between this one and that,

You find THE girl and immediately she decides – to go.


Not disappearing from life, in the way of an end,

But still,

Leaving a yawning absence, a hole, a void,

And one that is entirely impossible to fill.


One longs for so much in this life,

Such as:

The food your diet forbids, the greener grass on the other side,

But never before have I felt such a gaping crevasse


Like an errant limb removed from you, or a missing quadrant

Of sight,

Barely able to shift the focus of my thought

And worst of all, the loneliness of every night.


When the presence of the pain recedes, after the initial,

Violent shock;

The profundity of the loss, the need to be reunited

Takes hold of everything you do – a crushing, agonised block.



Have you ever wondered if there’s something quite wrong with you?

Friends marry, buy a home, have kids;

Why am I still here?


It’s not that I haven’t loved.

But it’s always in episodes.

Brief glimpses of one story,

Enduring epics of the next.

High drama,

Mundane predictability.

Unquenchable, burning desire or

Quiet understanding.


Have you never wondered if love might be at its best

In episodes?

Like fruit,

Ripe in the glory of its season

But eventually fading.

Only the seed remaining, containing

The key to more?