Watching Old Black And White Ealing Comedies Saved Her From Self Harming, Again

I cwtched* up close behind her,
feeling the waves crash deep within
her shaking, cut-up skin.
As she rocked, gently,
going nowhere but hammock-riding
her soul into a desperate lullaby.
I’m the only person she can stand
to have near when she’s fragile…
I never frown at her sighs,
and accept her flaws for what they are…
stumbling blocks she’s still out-riddling.
‘Kind Hearts And Coronets’
was just over two thirds through.
Each time Alec Guinness appeared
the edges of her mouth twitched, slightly.
It was a toss-up between ‘The Ladykillers’
or ‘The Lavender Hill Mob’ next?
Which isn’t fair… she’s teasing,
which means she’s starting to feel better,
for she knows ‘Whisky Galore!’
is my absolute favourite.
I tried gently tickling,
overstepped the mark… and retreated.
She relented, quickly, with an
“It’s alright, have it your way,
But, I’m going to pull up my hood,
turn around, bury my face into your chest
and just listen whilst you are watching it.”

* “cwtch” is a Welsh word and when translated into English means “cuddle”.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer, who’s currently up to his elbows in Magic, and long may it remain this way. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.