I am without excuse.  As I remove myself from the last vestiges of normality and the relationship I have known for more years then I care to admit, I cannot but feel a pang of regret. But I shall calibrate my rationalisation of reality with the balances and weights of passion; for only thus will I be able to justify to myself, in the long lonely nights to come, my chosen course of action. And thus, with burden unremoved I extricate myself from the inconvenience of a love long borne.  I choose to devote myself  to a younger, fresher predilection

As always, the dawn awaits my coming.  I hold in my hand the token.  I know that she will not have me if I do not bring it.  And I know full well to whom it is rightfully belongs.  Sophie, who has loved me faithfully more years then I would care to count is entitled to the gift I carry.  It is not without significance to me that with not one word of complaint she has borne my burden faithfully for so very long.  I would not be a man if I were not torn between the morality of consistency and the passion of new born love. I am beyond help.  Caught in the grip of urges and sensations that I have not known in so very long, I compromise my integrity.  Sophie will never know.  I will return, changed but she will not see it.  She will trust me yet. But in the meanwhile a darker love will possess my heart.


It is alien to me that the token I carry can stir to passion the urges of both the one I do love and the one I have loved.  Yet despite my disbelief I know that it is so.  And it seems to me a mere male, that the female of the species is so fickle.  I could not begin to imagine a masculine predisposition to such passing trinkets in quite the same way.

I make my way hurriedly to the meeting point.  She knows I will come.  There has been no doubt in her heart. There has been no betrayal of uncertainty in her bearing these days past.  I approach the appointed place at the appointed time.  There is no question in my mind that she will be waiting.  And my anticipation is not disappointed.  I round the turn and see her, standing, patiently in full and certain trust.

At my arrival she betrays herself.  The signals, the signs, are those that only I can read.  Another would deem them insignificant.  But I know her.  She cannot hide her secrets from me.  She is expectant of my love.  Yet it would not seem the same if I brought no token.  And with the gift I betray my faithful lover of yesteryear.

And yet I remain safe.

Asleep at home in her stable, Sophie will never know of the carrot I bring to the wild forest pony.

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