© 2019 by pickledtillyour92

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  • pickledtillyour92

Dear...

Updated: Jul 28, 2019


Dear BFG (big friendly giant)

Time and space pour ton deuil,

je te l'’ai donné,

Mon dernier cadeau d’amour.

Pain, sacrifice, the extent tu vas jamais savoir.

Hidden pain for you,

gangrene spreading through body, mind and soul, pain ebbing and flowing. Pain.

But not a word,

self control I found for you.

En retour tu as craché a moi,

tu n’as pas voyagé, tu n’as pas voulu être seul pour travailler sur toi,

you found a new distraction,

sad lost boy who is not ready, I pity you.


Last year you broke me,

This year you butchered me.


Dear Butcher,

Quand je t’ai vu, je n’ai vu aucun changement,

sad lost boy imprisoned in emotional suppression,

bury the inferno year and bury me with it.

You will not find peace this way;

bury and you will live in torture forever.

‘Everyday is hell’, I know what that feels like now,

I gave you all of me, coeur, ame, nurse and more,

you took, took, took...


And where were you when I needed you?

Un operation, a bruised swollen face in a hostile city,

afraid, agony, alone - tu étais où?

The loss of my nest, a failed search for another, 2m3 of Gare de Nord storage, tu étais où?

The loss of David…

You shared his 70th birthday, you didn’t even ask about his funeral - tu étais où?

I was your ‘lighthouse’, your words

Where were you, tu étais où when I needed you?

A butchered heart hemorrhaging,

35 soon to be 40 my dreams in the poubelle of 40 Chemin Vert

Time does not heal; un blessure plus profondant que jamais

Brutal butcher dressed up as kind, brutality just beneath, beware.


Dear Beautiful boy,

I miss listening to your morning toilet tunes,

Your thick wavy chatain hair that only nice French boys have,

A gay dutch accent,

The scent of 2000mm of lean long corps,

A quest to find the best champagne franprix can sell,

The pursuit of the perfect guacamole,

The joy of post trip excel,

Talking, watching, travelling to a game Alex or Mat,

Wimbledon or Crystal Palace,

LeBrun, Curry, Durant...

Running, tennis, yoga together,

My soul mate, amoureux, conseiller, mon meilleur ami.

Painting with Lisa, the classic argument with Fred, table tennis with Mat, just being with Julie …

un emoji heart like an injection of love,

Silver linings, trois petits mots,

La rêve – la petite maison en province avec unconditional love, a love I never felt.

So many plans, ideas, a shared love and passion of life, of each other.

A lowering and softness of the eyes, an understanding not requiring words

Soft, gentle, tender together,

You bring out the best in me, a better person, I like that person.

Words are clunky, energy and gestures were enough

Julie said no one before had done ‘les petits choses’ que j’ai fait pour toi,

les signes de mon amour…

A surprise massage, lights and hats to brighten a sad noel, fridge photos of loved ones, a hand written note to come home to, cooking at midnight.

An album - a year of love, 6 weeks of creation, 100+ pages and €s - you didn't even look at it.

An album a year, the first of many, adventures, children, a mountain to climb together at 60…

Gone, lost, all because of your unwavering stubbornness.

Fool.


Dear ‘the King you could be’

In every man there is a fool and a King,

the fool is the stubborn, proud, emotional crusher.

I talk to that King I know you could be.

Had you opened the door on communication, had you worked through the emotions you felt for me, had you done anything but throw it all in the poubelle of 40 chemin vert – you would have learnt something and grown.

A fact of life - everyone will let you down.

I, long from perfect, but ‘in the arena’.

You with unattainable perfect standards, the fool in the crowd who took the easy way out; cowardice over courage, an unshakable abandonment.

La poubelle, broken, butchered - you did that to me.

My first true love, with that my youthful naivety and innocence lost forever - because of you. Je ne donnerai plus jamais tout mon cœur.


Dear Pickle,

I understand now what I didn’t before, and painful that is.

Who one has in one's bed is all that matters, not what came before, now is everything.

I had everything in you and more than I ever dreamed.

The rug was pulled from beneath me quickly.

The fall is long and painful.

My angle who fell out of the sky and as quickly as you arrived, tu es parti.

Leaving me heart broken. Heart broken.

You chose not to see the bigger me, my heart and kindness.

You choses to boil me down to a few silly actions.

You have lost a wonderful thing in me, a beautiful adventure together.


I have to hope,

I hope one day you will see what you have lost,

maybe when you open the painting of your mother, that I did out of love for you and for a lady I wish dearly I had met.

She found a photo of me online, your family told me, et elle a pensé que j'étais très belle,

Je suis touchée, qu’elle m’a cherché et qu’elle a dit ça.

In her parting days I told her I would always look after her baby boy.

We were united in our love of you, we understood each other,

I told her I would protect you, love you, support you through everything.

I tried.

Where I felt short, I have tried to put right by respecting your wishes and working on myself.

Your mother is in my prayers, I feel her guidance.

She told me to let go, I am trying.

But I love you Pickle, my first love, my only love and its you – a special special man.

I can’t throw that away like you did.

All my love for you is in that little canvas. All my pain, all my regrets.

We are a great team, only your stopped that from being.

I will always hope, there is no other way for me.

Trois petits mots.

Je t’aimes.




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