In another life I loved. Deeply, profoundly, and I believe, unforgettably.
His name was Ellis and I hurt him. Hurt him so terribly, so unforgivably that the guilt haunts me still. Even as I am now, in this life, this body I feel the pain of infinite sadness and sorrow for what I did to him, the one person I had loved and who had loved me.
What, I hear you ask did I do to him to cause this pain, this anguish for a long ago hurt. My answer has to be…I just don’t know. I don’t know what I did to my love all those years ago, but I know it was so dreadful, so deeply affecting for us both that he still stands at my shoulder in silent gentle rebuke.
A vague shadowy form, he invades my dreams at night, and he is always kind, always sweet and loving, and me, I am filled with the same deep love for him which I felt before. Nothing has altered in that respect. Ellis, my loving, beautiful, gentle Ellis. So dear to me and so happy with our love even though he knew it could mean trouble for us both. We didn’t care though, we lived for the day then. We were young….and in love.
He does not hate me, he has forgiven me. But oh God I cannot forgive myself, cannot erase the guilt which has haunted me for nigh on half a century and possibly much, much longer.
I read about men who love other men and their pain, their anguish resonates and makes me weep. I write about them and I know how they feel. I know what they are feeling and my own experiences, which are buried so deep within me, images which are there for so short a time that they barely register, are captured instead on my screen and come from the heart.
Writers will tell you that there within them, is a story which is begging to be written. And so it is with Ellis’ story. It begs, needs to be told. I know it now more surely than ever before. And one day I will tell it. I will relate how it was with us, how we lived and loved in that small seaside town on the edge of Yorkshire.
It will be my Mea Culpa for what ever it was I did to my lover all those years ago. No one deserves it more than he. He’s waited so long for me to make some kind of reparation.
If only, only I knew what it was I had done.
The young man on the left in the above image is what I imagine Ellis looked like. The story is based on my own weird experiences and dreams of a life I honestly believe I had lived around the early part of the last century. The Yorkshire seaside town is Scarborough if anyone wants to look it up on the map. I spent many holidays there with my family as a child, and even then I felt an overwhelming sadness in certain parts of the town. My last visit was in 2000 and I felt it then too.
Only since I began reading and writing M/M stories have other bits of the jigsaw fallen into place. The name Ellis came to me quite out of the blue some months ago when, in a moment of quiet sobbing I had asked ‘Ellis’ to forgive me. Make of it what you will.