Les yeux bleu

I took a slowish meander into work this morning/lunchtime, leaving earlier than I had over the past few days and going all the way from the flat to Waterloo by bus before catching a train to 'worktown' - it was a pleasant enough day, and I didn't have anything pressing to do, so why not, I thought. I ended up by tripping over a bittersweet reminder of one of the more traumatic days of my recent life, though - on the last bus I caught, from Baker Street towards Waterloo, I ended up sitting behind a French (speaking) family, presumably tourists, including a boy of 8 or 9. He was pleasant enough to look at, although nothing out of the ordinary, but, when he turned in my direction to look at something or other that had caught his attention, it felt like I'd been physically struck. His eyes were so like J's (my cousin's son, that is, the catalyst for the meltdown between us last autumn), big, clear, beautiful pale blue eyes, almost exactly the same colour and even a similar shape to those of that special little guy. I wish there was some way I could be part of J's life, and have him be part of mine, but I know it will never be, despite the instant bond that formed between us that fateful afternoon. It's better that way, I guess, because although I could easily give a 99% guarantee that he would come to no harm from me, the only way to make the guarantee 100% watertight is for me never to see him again. I know too much about myself for it to be any other way.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B