Making Love

I hated being on my own.
I never got over this fear of loss.

I continued with the make believe.

Waiting for death is like waiting for birth. There is the same feeling of wondering when will it come: tonight, today, tomorrow?

But I need a hand. How can I do this on my own? I have returned to being the frightened child I always was, afraid of being alone.

as she used to stare out the window facing into death, I now stare facing into meaninglessness

What is the point?

‘You’ve got to get rid of the stress. You’ve got to breathe in from the stomach.’

Aileen lay dying in bed beside me. I looked out through the window. There was still life outside. The landscape of the rooftops on Winton Avenue was as it always has been. The weather and seasons brought changes, but there was the same vista of houses and gardens. She would go, but they would go on: sucking in life and death.
Inside our house, in