Part 31

You were.  A beatification.

Some summer states of bliss.

Between the early year Bank Holiday’s. 

Veneration was driving with you. 

Stopping.  Somewhere secluded.

Single seated ceremony.

You gave me a locket of hair.  With a folded note that said ‘In case of martyrdom’.

                   *********************************

That day we passed vehicles. 

People.  Many people.  

Vehicles with cages.  Recent adaptations.  

In one. A man hung.  Dislocated.  

The stillness of the early summer day meant his last breath lingered before his eyes.  

No wind to dissipate his soul.

His final injustice. A name scribbled.  Pencil.  Notebook.

And we drove and we drove. 

And we drove and we drove.

And we drove and we drove.

                  *********************************

Every Sunday. 

We read papers.  Till early afternoon.

Your head against mine. 

Me reading. You listening.

You reading. Me listening.

Sometimes sleeping.  Radio playing and outside afternoon white noise infiltrating those other places we imagined.

Weekly world news.  Book reviews.  Culture. Society.  Fashion. People.

Everywhere.  Every page.  Every station. Every word. A New Philosophy.

The coming of Candles.

Everywhere. Candles burned.

Yet. 

For a while.

Lying between sheets, editorials and frequency modulation.

This was our miracle. 

This Basilica. 

This congregation of two.