Carry You - Grace Collins
The light is grey and illuminating. A strange time between night and dawn. The air is cool against my skin as the wind whips my hair across my face and stings my eyes. My breath catches in my lungs, compressing the space until it feels like I can no longer breathe easily. Thinking of you in your erratic sleep, arms and legs in a tangle, the bed sheets soaked in sweat, my heart constricts.
The sand is compacted, hard and wet, as I make my way towards the sea. Birds waking from their slumber circle ahead as my eyes meet the rocky outline of Barafundle Bay. The sea foam is brought forward and kisses the outside of my wellies. I wrap my coat tighter around me and pull down my bobble hat as I make my way across the beach.
You have been my love for the last ten years, ever since our eyes met across a dimly lit student union and you offered me your best smile. I was yours, from that tantalising moment, a moment of pure connection and hope. It was your presence that captured my attention from the start; you had this electric energy that radiated. I could feel that pulsation - it was live, tangible. The mic was static, creating a feedback that pierced the crowd’s ears, but your laugh covered most of the noise and instantly I was hooked. To feel that comfortable, that alive in front of all these people, meant that you were definitely a force worth reckoning with. I made my way to the front of the crowd, sweaty beer bottle in hand, to place myself at your feet. A sacrificial offering as it were. Between the throngs of bodies and the beat of the music, your eyes were on me. As you sang - your hands coiling the microphone lead, feet moving in time, hair plastered to your face - you sang for me.
I smile thinking about those early years, wrapped in our childish bubble, drinking beers and walking up Constitution Hill to see the sun rise across our beloved university town of Aberystwyth. Memories filter through of nights spent buried amongst textbooks and mugs of cold coffee, both working in earnest to complete the never ending cycle of essays. Of days spent in the blazing sun, where our ice creams dripped down our wrists as we walked hand in hand along the promenade. Of laughing as we meandered down the rocks to let the biting sea lick our toes. Of the nights I sat on barstools to hear you play, your lyrics washing over me, eyes locked, a secret smile that only I could decipher. But mostly I remember a lightness in us. A lightness that felt like we could achieve anything, just by simply being together. A closeness that transpired as we lay in our tousled bedsheets, tentatively testing out our hopes for the future, afraid that once spoken they would become concrete.
I have never once doubted my ability to love you, never once doubted the premise of our relationship and never once doubted the faith I had in us. How the years have eroded our relationship, like the rocks I skim my hands over as I wade through rock pools, feeling the worn and smooth stone beneath my fingertips. Cold, slippery and icy to touch.
The thing is, I am still here. I have been here all along. Though during the last few years your vision has dimmed and you have retreated into yourself, locking me out and throwing away the key, please know that I am still here. I am waiting for you in the life that you left behind. For now, the only recent memories I can conjure up are the ones of you staring blankly at the television, listless and barricaded within your own mind. Visions of silent tears and words unspoken as we dance around each other, both searching for something that we can no longer find in each other anymore.
The distance between us is the hardest part; to have you physically next to me in our home, yet feel a thousand miles apart, tears at my heart. The dull ache of losing the essence of us becomes more defiant and louder with every day that passes, a constant reminder of what we have become. I feel that we have been misplaced, like a set of keys put down in the wrong spot. You search and search for them, turning your home upside down in the process, only to return to the hook where there should be, willing yourself for them to be there, so you can get on with your day.
As I turn towards the cliffs and make my way towards the footpath with the sea behind me, the rolling waves remind me that everything can be reborn. That is the beauty of the beach - every tide brings with it something new. A shell washed up becomes a treasure for someone else. Drift wood is taken and lovingly carved into something memorable. Pebbles fill pockets and decorate windowsills; a recollection of a perfect day spent at the beach. With salt spray on my lips and sand under my finger nails, I begin to feel alive. I rub my eyes to find the sun filtering through the endless grey, showing that however weak, however small, there is always light. Light to love and light to fight for the one you love. You may not remember how to shine right now, but I will carry you towards that light.
Written by Grace Collins
I work in HR and a part time MA student in English Literature. Avid reader and writes book reviews on Instagram @thecwtchbookclub when not walking the puppy.
