Richard Hawley
Truelove's Gutter

Outside, it's cold, I can feel it even if I can't see it. The room is dark, only a faint gleam of light from an old lamp. The house is empty, it's just me meditating in the dimness, I should get up but I don't. I have no energy, am I dying inside or is it just a moment? Deep down, it's always been this way in my life, I've grown attached to this melancholic condition; it's a part of me. The showcase of wanting but not being able to resides in my mind and takes over my body.

And then he arrives to keep me company, with his warm and sincere voice, telling me what I don't know, in a simple way, never over the top, consoling me. I close my eyes and give into his tale, sometimes desolate ("As The Down Breaks"), sometimes hopeful ("Open Up The Door"), straightforward and sweet ("Ashes On The Fire"). I listen to him, I trust what he tells me, he makes me reminisce ("Remorse Code"), I open my heart's vista to past stories that ended badly ("Don'T Get Hung Up In Your Soul"), I seem to sense that fragrance. I lament the years gone by ("Soldier On"), in the illusion that they might return. But a moment later I think I don’t want them back. His company makes me feel better. He plays the guitar, perfect in its simplicity, never distorted, perpetually polite. ("For You Lover, Give Some Time"). He tells me he'll leave soon, but not before singing the last song ("Don't You Cry"), the most beautiful I've heard him sing, I can't help but become emotional. How could I not, he asks me but I can't manage it. I cry, I vent, and I feel good. Even though everything outside is the same, the house is increasingly empty and Richard has stopped singing. But I know he'll reappear very soon, every time I want him to.

Melancholy is the happiness of being sad - Victor Hugo