Angela Watt, 11 Sep '12

It was the 25th of November. I chose that day as it was her birthday. Somehow it seemed fitting. And being a practical man, it gave me more than enough time to tie up any loose ends. I'm a bit like that. I live in a structured world where I like things to operate in a certain way.

She'd sometimes smile and call me "OCD guy" in moments when my structures and patterns became a bit too much for her. She'd grab my hand and say "do you really need to do that right now?" as I organised all the spoons in the drawer to face East. She'd pull me away from my unfinished business and kiss me like she meant it or sway and dance to a tune on the radio encouraging me to place my hands on her shoulders and move in alignment with her. Maybe that's why I loved her so - she freed me from the constraints that I felt existed, the constraints that I imposed upon myself.

And then one day as suddenly as she had arrived, she was gone. It was her heart, her mother said when she telephoned to let me know.

"Did she not tell you? She was already living on borrowed time. What about the appointments? Oh really, she never told you about those. I'm so sorry," she said. "She always was an optimist, she always thought there'd be another day."

And instead of seeing the raspberry lipstick smile she reserved for me and the laughing hazel eyes or the swirl of her new red coat, that she'd eagerly modelled for me, I was left only with blue. Dark, oppressive, heavy blue. A blue that made my head ache and made me check the car door was locked over and over and over again. As I washed my hands - once, twice, nineteen times, forty-two times, blue numbers clicked through my mind like the display at the cheese counter in Sainsburys until eventually even I lost count. All other colour was gone - there was only blue. On odd occasions there would be flashes of brillant azure which almost blinded me after the burdensome stifling blue that I'd become familiar with. In the azure, I would catch glimpses of her - the pale almost translucent skin on the inside of her wrist, the turn of her shoulder, gaily painted toenails on her feet shoved into strappy summer sandals. I reached out for her in the azure, but she was always just out of reach, her laughter an echo, her hand never close enough to grasp.

And so today, her birthday I have decided to meet her in the blue. I feel sure that's where she'll be waiting for me. There's no-one around - any summer tourists that might have ventured here are long gone. I don't mess around. I stride into the waves - into the blue. The cold takes my breath away but I don't care - my only purpose today is to meet her there, to be with her again. I push myself further out and eventually the sand disappears from beneath my feet and I am dangling, free-form in the blue. I realise its power - it has me now and doesn't want to let go. I disappear beneath the waves and open my eyes. It's ok, it's safe here. Here there is nothing to check and nothing to count and there is no structure. But there are patterns. Beautiful, bewildering, dizziness inducing patterns. I see them all around me - exquisite, overwhelming patterns in blue. The swirls and curves spiral around me. They fill me and carry me into the vortex.