Therapy Session Three
“As we walked toward the pier I wanted to stop and write down a short poem that’d begun composing itself in my head but I knew she would consider it an inconvenience. I’d grown so far out of touch with my true self that I would compromise even this small bit of inspiration to keep the peace.
If I’d insisted she would have seen me in a different light, the old light, and the end wouldn’t have come so soon, or not at all.
Her initial attraction to me was my poetry.
I think she’d grown to see it as being trivial or maybe I was seeing it that way.
I’d read some Dylan Thomas the night before and now, walking toward the end of the pier, above the sea and parallel to a rocky point, I felt compelled to write about the briny, saltsun sea, of mermaids and mermen, starfish and spindrift. But if I stopped I’d shatter the silence and solemnity of our procession, I thought I would.
But what about spontaneity?
Spontaneity breeds spontaneity, I thought, what a chore.
Better to let her dictate the day.
She’d once said she loved me for my spontaneity; now any deviation seemed like a nuisance, to whom?
Finally we reached the end of the pier, and as we stopped at the rail, I felt a sort of momentum pushing me beyond it, as if it was reaching toward a non-existent other half.
We faced each other in the process of turning around.
‘Beautiful day,’ she said.
‘It is.’ I replied.
‘You know Morgan… I need to go.’
‘I think we passed a restroom on the way out, let’s go back.’
‘No… I mean… I want out of the relationship.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I think it’s… well… I think it’s the best thing… it’s like… our bridge has become a pier and… you know… that thing that Joyce said about piers.’”
“What did James Joyce say Morgan?” Dr. Nolan asked.
“Something like a pier is a frustrated bridge.”
“Nice of her to end it poetically. She sounds like a strong person.”
“Did her strength scare you?”
“I guess it did. I retreated.”