I lie
curled up
under three layers of clothing
and a grubby sleeping bag

Outside
the wind howls
forcefully, furiously
as if it is seeking revenge
on all who have wronged him

tent walls fly in and out
with surprising velocity
I am whipped, battered
over and over and over again
This prize boxer continues to kick
I am already down

Inside
I am equally turbulent
filled with hot air and rage
on account of the empty space beside me
provoking cold
and misery

Love came
and blew me away
I was swept off my feet by its sudden gust
feeling light as air
High as a kite

It left just as fast
I remember the quiet as he walked away
The stillness

I never once thought to stay home
At once the island became
a symbol of my independence
my 'I am OK'- ness
and a stark reminder
of the solitude forced upon me
A fitting place for a
solitary soul
A castaway

On Arran
everything feels urgent and primal
The climate seems to move with my moods
Wet and wild
Grey and drizzly
Scattered showers mimicked on my cheeks

Open plains stretch out
offering little cover
There is nowhere
to hide or distract
Things must be faced
head on

I open the tent
and breathe deeply into the darkness
thinking about you
how you chose to stay
And in doing so
left me

alone
on Arran