Once, shortly after I had first met J, we went to a quiet clearing deep in an endless wood. We sat alone amidst dappled sunlight and colourful autumn leaves flittering to the floor, immersed in each other and a warm breeze that carried with it the freshness of unspoilt nature and rumpled our hair. We were young, everything we were doing was innocent and new. J had reached over and stroked a finger down the back of my neck and I shivered. I reached back and slowly ran my hand down J’s spine. We watched each other’s skin become goosepimply and enjoyed the rush of warmth that tickled and soothed. We would occasionally catch each other’s eyes and giggle, happy that we were discovering these new little joys, happier still that we were doing it together.

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“I love how you make me feel,” J had said.

 

The moment was ruined by Philip emerging, uninvited with an overbearing smugness saying; “Why are you two hiding?” When really, he knew perfectly well.

 

Those young innocent days had been stolen and destroyed. The J who was part of them had become just a memory since the dream. The J I knew now was just as kind, gentle and tender but forever changed. There could be no innocent fun anymore. J was different, even during the most innocent of exchanges. When we hugged, J would pull away rather than relaxing in to me. The oddness of the response would always send my mind back to what J’s body had endured and once I remembered it, the thought would cling on relentlessly.

As I searched for meaning in my life, I was driven by both creative and destructive force. I wanted to create myself as something more but also to destroy whatever it was that constantly polluted these memories and darkened a mind that had been so happy before.

 

It wasn’t just the dream that was causing the world to become less happy. It was missing you, too. As you and I grew older we started to drift apart.

 

When we were young, we were together all the time. You explored your imagination with me and I felt as if there was a part of you that preferred the imaginary to the real. When you spent more time in your mind it brought so much colour and energy to your thoughts. But as you grew, you became more concerned with the real world. We’d day-dream less. You’d focus on what was real and prioritise dealing with the pressures and consequences that existed for you but not for me.

 

After the dream and in the loneliness that accompanied me as you began to grow older, I started to desperately search for ways to fill the gap that you had left. My motivations changed, slowly at first, until the only goal that gave me purpose was finding a way into your world. It’s embarrassing now to think of where I started on this journey to you. But I was younger, easily led astray, and open to anything. I didn’t know where to go and as soon as I met someone who tried to understand me, I was quick to take their guidance.

Her name was Poppy and she drifted towards me when my determination and naivety were at their zenith. I was alone, sitting quietly on the flowery bank of a river you sometimes imagine, lost in contemplation, sad and missing you.

 

The first thing she ever said to me was, “You look lost, child.”

 

Poppy looked like Mother Earth. She was big, clearly full of love but unkempt. I think I must have grimaced a little when she spoke. I did not enjoy the intrusion.

 

She smiled and I saw a set of horribly yellow teeth and a pair of twinkling eyes. She asked me what I was waiting for and the question confused me. I wasn’t waiting for anything, I was just thinking. Maybe I was waiting for some sort of idea that would mean I could become more real, or more meaningful to you. I couldn’t understand how this strange lady could know that I was waiting for an idea, yet her question seemed to be philosophical rather than practical.

 

I told her I was feeling lost. That I didn’t want to be waiting but I had no choice because I didn’t know where to start. The moment she heard my reply, her demeanour changed completely. She beamed.

 

“Everyone who is lost is searching for a way to be found.”

 

At first, I found the way that Poppy seemed to talk almost exclusively in declarations fascinating.

 

“I was lost once,” she told me. “Just like everyone else. But I discovered things, my child. Things that changed my life.”

 

She was standing and I was still sitting by the river, looking up at her hefty frame. She asked me why I felt lost and I thought about it for a long time.

 

“It’s hard to explain. I know what I want, I think. Just not how to get there.”

 

She was thrilled by this. “Knowing what you want means you have already started.” Like many things Poppy would tell me, I was unsure if this was insightful or inane but to someone searching for meaning in everything, it spoke to the core of what I thought I wanted.

 

Poppy sensed my interest in what she was saying. She decided, despite her age and size, to sit down next to me but because she was large and old, it was clearly an effort. She smelt like nature itself, unwashed but fresh.

 

“Everyone wants the same thing, my child. We are all the same in so many ways but we pretend, you see? We pretend to be so very different when we are so very similar.”

 

I felt safe, believing I was next to someone trustworthy and kind. She tilted her head a little and caught my eye, expecting me to say something back.

 

I asked her if everyone felt the same as me and she said that they probably did at first.

 

“We are all born with the desire to be more than we are but the journey towards happiness ends with a contentment for everything that we already are.”

 

I was picking grass and allowing the wind to take it out of my hands. I didn’t want to find a way to come to terms with what I already was. I was still young and burning with determination to overcome my own limitations. The unbridgeable gap between my desires and capabilities was hurting me, making me feel further and further away from you.

 

“But I still want to become more than I am. I don’t want to learn to be happy with how little I am.”

She looked at me quizzically and said, “Who are you?” She was asking for more than our name. I didn’t know how to answer. She could see I was struggling and then looked reassuringly at me.

 

“You’ll need to find out, otherwise how will you know what you can be satisfied with?”

I was less fascinated by her now. I was finding the conversation irritating and I think that may have been intentional on her part, a way to force me to speak more directly. It worked.

 

"I can’t decide what will satisfy me unless I know what is possible.”

 

“You’ve already started to find out,” she told me but her answer made me even more irritable. I hadn’t started. I was searching for somewhere to start, somewhere I could find out what was possible. If I knew this, at least I could begin to make decisions about my life.

 

Poppy’s face fell into a motherly and comforting gaze. She spoke softly.

 

“Do you have an open mind?”

 

I genuinely believed that I did.

 

I helped her back to her feet and her flowing clothes waved behind her as she began to walk away from the river to another place.

 

She told me to follow her and I did. I think I’d have followed anyone.