Bowes and Bounds Connected

A Community Network for Bowes Park and Bounds Green

Confessions of a Middle Aged Girl

We met at the retreat,  friends at first. 

Casual conversations, weeding organic vegetables.

Occasional weekenders, just friends.


You were slightly younger, tall, dark, attractive

In an ugly way.  Kind words.  Common sense.

Good hugs, but friends, just friends.


Then one weekend it changed:  or I changed.

Friday as usual, Saturday transition,

Sunday I was smitten.


That weekend, our final goodbye hug rocketed me to cloud nine,

soaring, soaked in my love for you.

 A bliss of warm love sunshine diffuses and dissolves into my life.

I dye my hair,…. buy cool new clothes …


A bright, brilliant, floating feeling of unlocked ecstasy,

I’ve never, never felt before.   I bared my soul in my singing.

 The smiles you smiled with me, wisdom words from your lips,

My mind replays again, again, sending me signals of romance.


But my older, long term partner, my steady rock of fifteen years,

Our companionable togetherness.  What do I say? 

What do I do?  Do I wreck long loving for this?


I tell him. 

He said he knew it would happen someday.

He gives me freedom to pursue this passion.

So I text my love, tell of my feelings,

“It’s OK,  we can go ahead without fear or guilt”. 

We text. 

Then, “Who? He asks.  Who are you?”

I repeat my name, where we met.

“Oh.   ......   I thought you were someone younger” –


My heart jolts.  Surely I’d read the signs.

Euphoria turns in and twists on itself,

Spins out stark daggers -  and I am shredded into tiny pieces.


Stop texting me.  I don’t fancy you.

Bitter … bewildered … smouldering snuffed flames …

My heart devastated, my mind confused.

Get counselling, you sick cow.

Surely we had magic: we’d danced barefoot on beds of dewy violets;

Our voices rose, merged in harmonies, melding, blended in joy;

Our words of mutual understanding, dabbling philosophical theories.


What twisted bastard are you?  I know I’m not

That typical beauty everyone would fancy,

But we’d talked, danced, made beautiful music.

An awful ache settles inside me, lingers long.


My sullied soul wanders listless,  lonelier in bitter regret.

What happened to me?     I just ,  .. .  .. lost lovehope, dreamhope.

Stained and shamed, I got it so wrong.

And now, I avoid ……..  retreats.

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