Celia Jenkins
Almost the greatest love of my life
She has cats now. She works doing something that wasn’t her dream twelve years ago, but maybe it’s her dream now. As the crow flies, she’s just a glimpse away, if I wanted. When we last met up, the first meeting for a while, I asked her new boyfriend how long her hair had been that colour, and he was surprised, and said the whole time he’d known her. Tumbling black-brown waterfall, turned red. Now they’re married and have cats and host boardgame nights, and I wish them happiness. Truly.
The movies favour unrequited love, the blissful heartbreak of passion unreturned. But give me almost love, any day. Crisp, perfect, almost love, love on the brink, teetering towards forever. Love so close you can taste its breathlessness. Not a fiery passion turned sour and saturated, not a candle burning quietly across the years, but those crimson lips saying, so softly, what if…
a pair of koi
two pools
without ripples
About the Author
Celia Jenkins was born in Guernsey (Channel Islands, UK) but left her heart in Japan. Her poetry has appeared in Presence, Hedgehog Press, Time Haiku, Poetry Pea, and Contemporary Haibun Online. She teaches Japanese and English from the fold out table in a caravan. https://www.celiajenkins.com/