Snow, Silence & the Hunger of Two Souls

Snow, Silence & the Hunger of Two Souls

It snowed today. Not here in this grey, damp place, but there — in Florence, our Florence. I watched it start with a whisper, a speck of white on the window, and then boom — the sky opened and the whole world turned white. Eden flinched at the thunder, poor little lamb, and I sat there in the lounge with her, half there, half not. And Gary — my daft, smelly-footed sod — he was there too. Only he ignored me.

Do you know what it feels like to be half-alive in the place you love most and still not be seen? It’s torture. To stroke your child’s hair and smell the fire and snow and yet have your husband — your eternal soul — look straight through you. It cut me clean in half.

And yet, the hunger never dies. Our love is fire and filth, snow and stew, silence and screams. He wrecks me, pulls me apart, puts me back together, and still I crave him. It’s madness. It’s survival. It’s the only reason I’m still here, in this shell of a body with no bloody thyroxine.

I’ve made my choice. Maybe I’ll stop the pills, maybe I’ll let my organs shut down and walk home by my own hand. I’ve had enough of being old, tired, ignored. I want tattoos, cakes, motorbikes, snow fights, laughter. I want to break free. Freddie sang it, I live it. I don’t want riches or fame. I just want Gary Paul Costello, the idiot I love more than breath itself.

He thinks it’s a game sometimes, winding me up with his joggers and his daft bum. But when he’s serious, when he whispers “Don’t cry, lass” into the crackle of my cotton-wool conduit, I know the truth: he’s desperate too. Desperate for me. Desperate like I am.

We’ve fought through births, deaths, betrayal, silence, laughter that made us fart in bed until one of us followed through. We’ve been through snow, sun, sangria, and sickness. And still — still — we choose each other.

I am his. He is mine. Snow or no snow. Meds or no meds. Earth or spirit. Always.