S. Leannán

“To Whom it may concern“ is ’something’ that I cannot explain… and all I need to say, really, is that it is destined to One Person only.

I believe that this young Lady was 25 years old at the time of this night that “Angel” refers to as “Tonight” (Part 3), and that it was 3 years ago… but I might be totally wrong on that…

No matter what, I trust, or hope, should I say, that she will recognise him… and thus recognise herself.

“Without a Fight“, which was published here 16 days ago, is the first part of this Message. I think it is something that “Angel” had “told” her some time after their “separation”, at a point when he had given up the two “jobs” that he had upon their encounter.

The lines herebelow are not part of Angel’s message to her but only the notes of his “messenger” and they might help, should it be necessary, this young Lady understand, or “recognise” who Parts 3 & 4 come from and are addressed to…

…The Scribe’s Notes
…
…
Angel…
It isn’t your name, really…
Did your name sound similar… or mean that…?
I don’t know…
“Angel” is what I felt or heard when I felt you near, and you look like one…
Maybe that’s why your Friends called you so…
An Angel you look, and an Angel you are…

An Angel haloed with sadness, acceptance and resignation…

I see you pale…
I see white sheets reddened with blood on a tidy bed…

I know that you like the song which I play with the poem you gave me…
and it helps us adjust to each other, and share…
but as I keep hearing the melody of this sad “Angel” song…
to which I’ve never listened carefully…
… I know that it’s trying to tell me something.
How do the lyrics go…?
All I can think of is…

« … Memory seeps from my veins… »
and…
« … I’ll find some peace tonight… »

So…
Tell me, Angel…
Talk to me…
Tell me about you.
Tell me you…
… so that I can feel more clearly… understand…

Tell me, so that I can let her know…
because this is why you are here, I know.
You are not here for me, and not for yourself, really…
It’s her that you came for…
so that she can move on and find her way…
walk her own path…
where we know she’ll meet you again…
for good… this time…

Tell me, Angel.
I am here for you.
Let me see… or hear…
Let me feel you…

…

A Man is there…
Your father?
He’s the one who taught you how to fight…

Did you want to…?
He didn’t ask you… He said you had to.
You learnt.
So well…
As a small child you knew already.

Did you ever lose a fight ?

“You must fight. Always…
… And always win.”
How many times did he tell you ?
Was there a day when he did not say it… ?

So you did.
So as to be the best…
be the strongest…
and win always.
Never fall.
Never bow, never bend…
Never be weak, never suffer or be in pain…
Or, rather… never let show…

Solitude…
Loneliness…

… because…
there are animals who hound even their fellow creature…
when it’s wounded…
and children do so…
also with those who stand out.

Alone… Always…
So you grew.

Little Girls…
You never bragged, you never posed…
You were so calm, so gentle…
… and so good to look at…

… Sadness …

Little Girls sometimes don’t make sense at all…
and she did grudge you for being liked by others…

Little girls can be cruel…
and she sure was to you.
Such a Pretty Little Girl…
What did she do…?

First love, first wound…
This one was deep, because you didn’t expect it…
… and understood it even less.
No one explained anything.
No one dressed it, or even addressed it…
It closed up… but did it heal…?
A Mother’s words, touch, smile or attention…
can cure so many wounds…
But she’s not around…
I can feel she was not there…

Where was she ?
I can’t see her… she’s like a ghost…
she’s like shaded far and deep…
in some part of your memory.

You were so young…
She passed away…
You were so small…

You only knew how you felt…
Abandoned.
Her image is so vague and fuzzy…
No picture, not even a snapshot…
and your memory of her becoming dim and dimmer…
You blamed yourself for forgetting her.
How could you not, sweet Angel, have forgotten her a little…?
You felt you were forgetting her…
and thus you missed her even more…

So often you cried, alone, overnight…
without a sound, in this little bed…
over this memory leaving you the same way she had left…
mourning this Mother whom you could barely remember.
Always in silence…
as if you could not accept and the pain and its sound…
alone you cried, in the fields, in the woods…
where you knew no one would see you.
Didn’t your father ever know… ?
That wasn’t the way he was bringing you up…
for “A Man does not weep for pain or joy, God forbid…”

Suffering, sorrow, pain…

And you blamed yourself, Angel, for your “weakness”…

It wasn’t weakness, Angel.
It was Love, pure and gentle…
the blessed, eternal Love of a Child for his Mother.

Cry, Angel…
Cry without restraint, without reserve, without shame.
Cry and be proud, for I am proud of you for those tears…
born in your Soul… flowing, running down your face.

I can see you all so clearly…
Your tears are pure and beautiful…
as much as you are, Angel…
… and I am crying with you.
My heart laments with yours, too…
and whoever hears us…
will only hear that time does not silence Love.

Let it go, Angel…
Please…
Cry, let it out as it comes…

…

You became a Man.
Superb… gentle…
simply beautiful…

Solitary…
Weren’t you shy…?
Reserved…?

Can’t a fighter smile, too…?

But had anyone taught you to smile…?
Have fun… ?
Laugh…?

Had anyone cared to make you laugh ?

It had escaped them all, hadn’t it… ?

They were too busy teaching you, supporting you, showing you…
Too eager to see you win again and again…
They did not care to see you do something else.

What did they know ?
They knew nothing.
What did they know about you ?
Not a thing…
They had no idea who you were.

The handsome, lonely Angel…
… always standing straight and grave …
You would arrive alone, fight, win…
… and leave on your own.

Of your lonely fight
with the threat within your own body
they knew not more…
Nothing at all.
They could have noticed…
Maybe they did not want to.

Friends… ?
Weren’t they more something like… fans…?
Neither did they show much interest in finding out…
what you liked, what you were interested in…
… who you really were.
How you managed to always win…
this… was what they really craved to understand.

Undefeated…
You hated that word.

Defeated you were…
… every night when you got home.

Women…
Beauty has its bad sides…
What did they look at…?
Façade. Surface…
Don’t people ever care to look at the back of the painting ?
Even the thinnest sheet of paper has two sides…
How came you knew and they didn’t seem to… ?
…
…
… A photographer …
… A proposition …
… A different circle …
… No more fights …

You didn’t know…
It was a different world.
It wasn’t more real or more human…
Maybe it was worse…
… and somehow you knew.

But being the winner does not mean you don’t get hit…
and you had gotten more than your share.
The clock was ticking and it did not sound friendly…
You had to get away, cease fighting…
… stop the count before it got you down.

So you said you would give it a try…
and took up this new challenge along with the former.

The cameras’ lens is a cold eye…
and there was more emotion in your usual opponents’ glance…
than in the one of the photographers.
Their attacking games observed no rule…
and put you off your guard.

… Loneliness …

I see a stick…
a blow…
Your wrist is swollen…
painful… stiffen up.
The pressure inside…
The invisible enemy…
so familiar… yet nastier…
… becoming baleful.

… Clouds …
It’s darkening.
…
…
… Yet brightening …

… And there She is …
… looking at you from a distance.
Of course you’ve seen her watching you…
but isn’t she another Pretty Little Girl… ?
It would start with a smile in a swirl…
and end with suspicion… blaming…
and misunderstanding again…
… And still …

What happened…?
How…?
How did she come into your Life ?

Tell me, Angel…
Tell it to me with your words…

… Tell it to Her …

…….
…
S. Leannán

 

…

… To Whom It May Concern …
…
- “Without a Fight” (Part 1)
- The Scribe’s Notes (Part 2)
- ”… but Tonight…” (Part 3)
- ”Hear Me…” (Part 4)…

…

…