The Love Troll
It knew of the unknowable distance
that grew between us,
but God knows how it got there –
one day it wandered in,
pinned its tenancy
to the inside of my chest
and sat there, observing,
oblivious to nothing.
It was a keen musician,
keeping tempo with my tempo,
slept when I slept,
read when I read.
I continued as normal
amid the newness of letting go
with an awareness of it
that snuck past definition.
Once, on the way to college,
I saw its reflection
holding steady in the window
of a passing train
and I found a privilege
to the age I was present in.
It ended its stay at the next stop,
but before it was lost to the crowd,
it looked back
and we smiled to each other
knowing that the dialogue
between me and you –
however unspoken –
would continue.
And that was the last
I saw of it
without ceremony
but with rhythm in its shoes.
Tom Wiggins is a 28 year-old writer from Gloucester. He is an amateur antique dealer and student studying stone masonry in Bath. He tweets @thewigginsboy.