A Tragic Comedy

The Shamrock and The Potato: A Tragic Comedy.

Once upon a a time, in a kingdom far away, in a land of castles, raging beasts and valiant armies, two rival warriors clashed. 

Still in her infancy, The Potato received an invitation by a Mighty Warrior, she accepted out of curiosity, and it's there the story began.

The intricate dance of two minds gently probing, the gentle nudge, the lasting touch of thoughts entwining, words flew across the wires like raindrops against a window, soft, reassuring, cleansing. They poured forth their combined ideas, sparks flew like electric pulses, and they were a sight to behold. 

Together they were magnetic, electric, and they drew others into their combined madness. They pushed each other in ways no one else could fathom. Potato threw caution to the wind, and let her mask slip. She dared him to look at her true form, her fire and her intensity. The Shamrock not only accepted it, but he fed off it, he took everything she gave, and made it better. 

They burned bright, fire and intensity ripping through them, where their minds met, chaos followed. They laughed, they bit, they rallied and they tore through the world: Shamrock with his intensity, power and might, Potato with her gentle ease and wild heart. 

To the outside world they were kindred spirits, they were intense, electric and shared that light with anyone who wanted a part of it. No one knew the threads that wove between them in the darkness. No one guessed at the depths they'd revealed to each other in whispers and broken promises. Revelations, the slow shedding of secrets, and the devastating beauty of two souls reaching out across oceans and continents. 

Alas, this shared peace wasn't destined to last. Tragedies don't start with endings, they start with small cracks. They start with a sharp word that cuts a little too deep. They start with a misunderstanding that wasn't clarified. They escalate out of nowhere into firestorms that burn everything to ash. 

And that's how it ended. 

A perceived lie. 

A gentle reminder of the bond shared, even if it was broken. 

An explosive final word came down, and it cut her so deeply, she saw no way back. For once she was scared of him. She saw the fire she'd basked in turn into a raging inferno, he lashed out, burned her, hurt her, and left her. 

And then, when she withdrew to protect herself... When she tried to keep the peace she'd fought for... He made her the villain of his story. He vowed to burn her to the ground and leave only her ashes. 

He vowed to force her out of his kingdom, out of his sight. He tried to tear her down. In his actions she saw betrayal, but she also saw the unraveling. She saw his pain, she saw his hunger. She was his mirror, and he was her reflection. She saw pieces of herself in him, and in those moments of chaos she knew him best. 

Who else could understand the raging storms that could tear through a heart and make everything hurt? Who else could understand the pain of a severed connection? 

She withstood the onslaught. She weathered the storms, and she remained standing. 

But in her heart, she misses him like a skipped heartbeat. She misses the wild rush and the tenderness. She misses his voice, his eyes, and the way he looked at her. She misses the hope she held, and the love that was coming alive in her chest. 

She misses his mind, his words, his wit and the danger. She misses the electricity and the connection. She misses everything about him... 

Except the pain, and the fear. 

But pain fades, and fear dwindles... Aren't all the epic stories laced with pain that makes pleasure sweeter, with fear that makes the heart race and pupils dilate? 

She only wanted a brief reprieve, a moment to heal without further damage, a safe space where she could try to understand what had happened. She never expected their combined creation to explode the way it did. She never imagined him capable of sharing the intimate pieces of herself she'd entrusted to him, while falsifying the narrative. She never imagined her raw unfiltered words would be turned into knives that would gut her. 

 She never would have believed him capable of betraying her trust so deeply, utterly and completely. 

Now there's nothing left but bitter ashes tossed on the wind. A mourning heart for the love she felt, for the hope she held, for her soul mate and twin flame. 

It was a rare, beautiful connection that transcended time and distance. He was what her dreams and fantasies were made of. 

And she never got to tell him any of it. 

So she mourns, and she writes, and she holds the pieces of him she remembers close to her heart. 

She remembers the intensity, the madness, the laughter and the absurdity. 

She remembers him fondly, and in moments where her soul reaches out, her words playful, double edged, and greeted with uncertain silence... That's when she misses him the most. Because she knows what he'd say, she knows how his mind would meet hers halfway, and she knows the chaos they'd create would ignite the world once more. 

She's only half of the whole. She's only a spark, where he was her oxygen. 

(11/12/25)

Seeking A Soul Mate

It feels almost treasonous, writing to someone who isn't here yet, while I also think of he who is. For once I'm being true to my soul though; I know I'm living a Half-Life where frustration and dissatisfaction overwhelm me. Where my days are wasted trying to find a semblance of meaning.

I'm a writer, a poet, a reader of books, a devourer of philosophy, a thinker, a questioner, a dissatisfied survivor on this planet we call home.

I'm imagining a life spent opposite someone who understands me.

My other half would not waste time dragging me to malls, but take me to libraries where we would bury ourselves in books, and read quotes by our favorite authors. We'd drink coffee and read poetry until we are parched. We would camp under the stars watching them twinkle in each other's eyes.  We would live a life of words.

We would entwine our fingers over breakfast and discuss the merits of Oscar Wilde, and whether or not we like his philosophy. We would feed off of each other and watch movies that encourage thought and debate into our natures and beliefs. We would make each other better people.

I miss you before you're here, and I don't know where to find you.

You are too deep for tinder, as am I. And I somehow cant picture you wasting your time and energy on the fruitflies and moths that are drawn to you. I imagine you are looking for something deeper and can't be bothered with their frivolity.
I imagine you gaze at them in wonder, and distance, for you are the light, and can't be bothered to be swallowed by something shallower than what your soul craves. Perhaps you go to bars to hear poetry from those of us who are loosened up from our usual silence into phases of artistic reflection. We do not giggle or demand attention, we are grounded.

Maybe I'd find you in a library, or a book store, or a bar? Maybe I'd find you on a beach as you imagine the stars above us that we can't see? Maybe I'd find you in a coffee shop as you watch the people passing by the window and catch your eye? Maybe you're the man strumming a guitar and making up words to match the melancholy in your eyes?

I miss you, and the conversations we should be having.

You're one in seven billion and I don't know where to find you, but there's an urgent fire in my soul telling me that it's time, and you're close.

You're as clear to me as my reflection, and already as dear to me as my soul.

I can see you in my mind's eye as a vision, perhaps your eyes are clear blue, or maybe they are as dark as mine.

I don't know where to find you. I don't know how to find you.

You are, as I am: unique. We are more than what meets the surface. We are gentle and yet fierce, soft and yet resilient, quick to smile or laugh, but easily moved to silence and speculation.

All I know is that you are not here yet, and I should start looking for you, or at least going to places where you might be.

I will find you. You will find me. We will find each other eventually. Because this life is unbearable without each other.

You're the other half of my soul that split from mine when we were created. That's what I'm looking for, and I can't wait to find you.

I've known you exist for ages, and I got distracted by my happiness at finding someone to share my time with, but now I'm aware that he isn't you, and once again I'm on the hunt for something deeper, more meaningful, and truly intimate as only we can be.

I'm looking to expand and grow instead of shrinking and contracting to fit a predetermined space. I've grown narrow and dull, boring and muted. I miss being vibrant and pulsing with life. I miss the wild shine in my eyes and truly feeling connected in a moment. I need to share that, to give it and receive it back. I need life. I need passion. I need connection. I need someone who doesn't try to crush the life out of me. Someone who encourages me to be the best version of myself.

I need more. I need someone who will seek out gardens and beaches and deserts. Someone who can build a fire and want to simply sit next to it, gaze into it's depths and tell me what they see, just for a laugh, or maybe not. Someone who is also a creative force, who is able to be what I need.

I'm looking for a writer, a reader, a thinker and a gentle soul. I'm looking for someone who is open to the world around us in all its forms, who delights in touch, and taste, and discovery.

Who counts moments shared as treasure neither of us can place a value upon.  Who sees everything as an experience to be noted.

All I hope is that I recognise you when I see you. And that you'll see me in the corner of a crowded room and come to me, for I know I'd be too shy to come to you.

(Written in Toronto June 2019)