Dare I Hope

Hello My Darling

One of your many gifts is your poetry. My heart swelled with pride when, after fourteen and a half years, I got to hear about the awards you had won and the journals that had published your work. I am many things but one thing I am not is a poet. I lack your skill for succinct brevity. I therefore really don’t know why I decided to jump right in to the depths of these waters, familiar to you but treacherous to me. I don’t write poetry. The last time I even attempted it would have been in high school. I have contributed to the lyrics of a number of songs but they were nothing more than a series of rhyming couplets.

When you restabilised contact I penned you these verses. It was probably triggered by my reading of your own excellent work. No doubt there was a level of conceit thinking that I could mimic your efforts. I am a little frightened to even put this out there as I feel it unworthy by comparison. But here it is. The piece I wrote for you. I can see its weaknesses, its inconsistencies and its structural flaws. Please forgive me all of those things. I hope you can see the heartache and the love.

You Will Always Be My Darling

From Sir With Love


It was a bright, autumnal Utah day

A girl, a woman, a lady

Walked into a room

Into my life

Her spirit, indomitable

Her self confidence, unbreakable

Her wit, unassailable


But beneath her carefully coiffed façade

For those who cared to look, dared to look

She was hurting, grief struck, broken……..almost

Her outer shell was but flaking lacquer

Brittle, turning at the edges

In the harsh Utahan sun


I turned my head and offered up a gentle smile

Then closed my hand on hers,

Why? Just because

She looked up somewhat startled

She thought to raise her ire

Quick as a flash she changed her mind

A smile, then on with the show


Her hand, well I can feel it still

It radiated warmth

But through it I could sense her grief

Her incomprehension, her loss

I knew no salve to heal such ill

So I offered up my ear and listened

Then talked, and listened more


The days turned to weeks

The weeks into a year

The room could not contain us

No telephone line long enough

Two cities were but inconvenient

Two states, a mere annoyance

Then two continents, one big ocean

Almost enough, but hardly

She sang, she soared she radiated goodness, beauty, light

I basked in her glory, her adoration, her splendour


I could not get enough

We bonded on all levels

First comedically, then intellectually

Emotionally, even spiritually

Then at last

And with passion not known before or since



She was healed now

Not better, certainly stronger, and just a little different.

She had the strength to make some plans

She held my antipodean hand and told me she was mine

I cried with joy

I sang and shouted

Oblivious of the pain to come

The pain that I would cause


Then…….the room was empty

The telephone line was silent

An artificial construct came between us

I thrashed, I wailed, I fought with all my might

I thought I could control it

How wrong was I?

I took a wrecking ball and across the ocean I did hurl it

She never saw it coming

I broke the thing I loved the most……almost


I brought the circus with a side show to my town

I the ringmaster in my own demise

The clowns did not distract me

But the witches cast a wicked spell

I succumbed to weakness, vile and petty

Deluded, ignorant, shrill

While an ocean away

The creature that I adored most

I loved her as I have loved no other

I still do

Lay battered, bleeding, bruised



For fourteen years I walked the wilderness

Taking comfort where I could

False prophets everywhere

They took my goods and chattels

The last vestige of my dignity, my self belief, gone

The sign posts were forlorn reminders

Flagging careless actions of a wasted life

Sadness, loss, remorse, regret

They led the way

They were my dim, dull, dark light


Then a hand reached out

She thought jaded, I thought pure

She turned her head and gave a gentle smile

And covered mine with hers

I was startled, manic, frightened

She calmed my nerves, dispelled my fears

Gave me a love I did not deserve


I had hurt her, it was clear to see

But her pure heart, still sought to heal me

Her great tormentor lay distraught

A shell, a shadow, an echo of his former self

I looked at her with fear and amazement

“How could I have let such a thing of beauty ever leave my sight?

How could I have been so blind to what I had?

How could I have hurt this precious creature?”

Who even after all the heartbreak and the pain

Could find it in her heart to love me still

Want to heal me

Make me whole again


Well I am hers now

But….will she ever be mine?

A man, flawed but always there

A man who waited

A man that I was better than, or so I thought

Had held her hand, then carried her on his shoulders

As she traversed the desolation

That had been my parting gift to her


Today we travel on a new road

An unchartered path

I try to explain

Then she heals me just a little more

And I hope in my small way

I heal her a little too

I am brave enough to look once more

Into her deep brown eyes

I search to find the hatred, revenge, disgust that must be there

Sure I see the hurt, but there is forgiveness

Even love

Will I ever see her trust again?

Will my betrayal ever be washed away?

It’s more than I deserve, but still……..


For fourteen years I carried a flame

Naked and pure for a woman I so wantonly destroyed

Will there be forgiveness? Yes

Reconciliation? Yes

Happiness, Laughter, Joy?

Yes, yes, yes

Will there even be love?

It amazes me still but I think the answer to be ……. yes


But…….Will I ever see her smile at me again?

Will I ever hold her hand again?

Or even better hold her in my loving arms

Will she lie beside me as I sleep?

Cover me when I am cold

Care for me when I am ill


Will I ever get to gaze upon her beautiful eyes once more?

Will she get to hear me whisper “I love you” in her ear?

I fear not, my time has passed

That pain it is now friend

I of course know that truth

It is both just and fair


But I wouldn’t be a man at all

If when it’s dark, when it’s cold and when I’m lonely

When I hear the siren song of the demons in my head

When they call to me

Calling out my long list of ills

The list that is my very torment

How could I not?

Why should I not?

Have one last deluded dream

That one day, one day

She will once more say she will be mine

Dare I hope………………………?


By Sir © 2013 TSL



Dear Sir,

I have this obsession with flossing my teeth. I am never without those single flossers. I find using them relaxes me for some odd reason.

Did I floss an abnormal amount of time when I was with you, or is this some OCD tendency habit I’ve picked up in the past 15 years? I really don’t remember.

So pardon this strange letter. I know it’s completely random. I’m just wondering.



p.s. I still don’t have any cavities. *smiles ever so sweetly*


Dear Darling

Is it really necessary for you to mention, AGAIN, that you have a cavity free smile? I mean the second phone call we had after 14 and a half years, it was all you spoke about.

Then of course you forgot that I had knocked my two front teeth out as a child. I reminded you but not until after you’d had a lovely time mocking those of us with less than perfect teeth. Although in fairness in your eyes I believe my dental well being still rated above that of the British!

Do I remember your OCD tendencies in regards to floss? No I think you were still quite normal up until that point. But you were well on the way to developing a fully blown obsession in regards to your teeth. This floss thing is no doubt the physical manifestation of same.

You know I love your smile and the person behind it.

Yours Quite Fillingly

From Sir With Love


Dearest Sir,

Hyperbole much, love? Mee-ow. Pussy cat indeed.

I love you more than air.

Biting-ly yours,


p.s. Sarcasm becomes you, love.


©2013 Darling and Sir

To Be Thankful

My Dear Australian Sir,

Today in America it is the holiday Thanksgiving, a day of expressing thanks. It’s a great time to reflect on our blessings and to show and feel gratitude. I, Sir, am extremely grateful for you – your compassion, your wittiness, your laughter, your heart, your soul, your love, and your life (to name a few).

Thank you for loving me with all that you are. I am truly a better woman for your love. Know that it is reciprocated fully, deeply, unconditionally, and purely. I adore you.

Gratefully yours,



My Darling

American popular culture has permeated our own and while it is not something we celebrate here, Thanksgiving is day we Aussies know about through the many references found in your TV and Films.

The world could do much worse than have a day dedicated to giving thanks. I trust you are enjoying your holiday.

Thank you for you generous words. I always felt that I could be the best that I could be with you in my life and after fourteen and a half years I feel I could be that guy again. I have said it before and I will say it again, on a day dedicated to just this purpose, thank you for finding me and letting me back into your life.

You Will Always Be My Darling

From Sir With Love

©2013 Darling and Sir

Sir Rogue

My Dear Sir,

The occasion I am going to talk about in this letter I believe happened the first full day I was with you. We were in your living room taking it easy as I adjusted to the new time zone, and I picked up a photograph album. I casually flipped through the pages. I was asking you who people were in the pictures. I wanted to share your life with you, and that included your friends. You closed your eyes, inhaled deeply, muttered something under your breath (quick prayer maybe?), came over and sat next to me, and said, “Let’s just get this over with.”

I am giggling now, because that was so you. You knew that in a few pictures – many of those pictures there were women you’d been with sexually and you wanted to face it head on. So in grand Sir-style you decided to hold my hand and temper the storms while you confessed your past. You were going to preempt any questions I may or may not have asked. I assure you Sir, I would never! (Still giggling here)

I can see you in my mind’s eye physically cringe when you affirmed with a “Yep.” You watched my face ever so carefully while the grand total kept climbing. You appeared chagrin and  somewhat repentant and even a tad bit defensive. You wanted no secrets between us, no skeletons to creep out of the closet, and to remove all doubt in my mind how you felt about me. You had forsaken all for me. You were willing to sit there and face potential censure; I loved you for it.

In some ways we were very much similar (still are), and in other ways we were as different as night and day. I loved you then and I love you now for all your faults. I love your intelligence and higher level of thinking. I am amazed at all your strengths. Your talents fill me with pride. Your tenderness and love leave me weak and breathless and, as you well know – stuttering-ly stupid (inside joke).

I accept everything about you. I love all the torn and tarnished pieces that make up you. There is only one Sir. Only one.

With all humility,



My Humble Darling

What on earth do I say to such a post? Yes I had some ex girlfriends. Yes I had a pictorial record of some of them. I was then now, and am to this day, in contact with some of them. Purely platonically I might add.

The one thing I am mighty sure of was that I did not do this to preempt any questions you might have. You had already asked all the questions! I had answered them truthfully. You tell this tale like you were some innocent who never knew I had such a colourful past. If I didn’t know better my love I would swear you were trying to manipulate the truth for your own ends (smiles). It reminds me of behaviour I would expect from a certain English acquaintance of yours.

Oh I know this would have been quite the visual reinforcement for you. To see them there staring back at you from the page would not be easy, just as it was not easy for me to show you. I did want then, as I still want now, to be completely honest with you. I know that brings some pain in the short term but it’s much healthier than finding out something you weren’t expecting later.

I am humbled that you can look beyond my chequered past. We are the same in many ways but as we both know there are some quite glaring fundamental differences in our make up. I have never doubted, before or since, that you were prepared to accommodate them and so was I.

I love you now and I loved you then my Darling, even if I am a rogue.

You Will Always Be Me Darling

From A Roguish Sir With Love


My Dear Reformed Sir,

I am sure I can’t even begin to presume your motives in pointing out the 2-D proofs of your past dalliances. You are correct though. We had the “talk” about our pasts before I even left my country, but to be quite fair I never gave it much thought until yours was staring up at me from the pages of a photo album.

You know as well as I do, Mr. Sir, that one cannot simply manipulate you. I pity the poor fool/s who even make such an attempt (English acquaintances included). I am giggling at the thought of personally trying. You’d just throw your head back and laugh that infectious laugh of yours.

You said something this morning on the phone that brought tears to my eyes. I had stated that I had wished you had married someone (instead of the cow you did) that would have made me pale in comparison – someone who added upon and not took away from your small family i.e. you and your parents. You immediately responded that there wasn’t such a woman – that no one compared to me and never would. You are not one for false praise or pretense. I am the one who is humbled.

I don’t care about your past with the exception of the small part I was able to share with you. I only want you to be happy and healthy and to never forget how deeply I love you.

Painstakingly yours,


©2013 Darling and Sir


My Sweet, Desirable Sir,

I am sitting here at work presently craving chocolate something fierce. Only dark chocolate will do, of course. You have told me that your father and I had that in common.

I love chocolate with caramel- salted or non-salted. I love dark chocolate with nuts. I love it with a fruity addition (raspberry, orange, etc.). I just really, really love chocolate.

I would give up chocolate, in all its forms, for the rest of my life for one kiss from you. I remember your kiss and how it would sustain me. Chocolate be damned.




My Delectable Darling

Yes my father loved dark chocolate; it was very much his thing. I have no trouble picturing you two sitting together, laughing, enjoying yourself and sharing some chocolate. I remember the one time you met him you hit it off immediately. The old charmer, I didn’t stand a chance!

Like many things in life my love our tastes in chocolate vary widely. I love white chocolate, chilled in the fridge and served with an icy cold glass of milk.  Yes I like dark chocolate, I even enjoy milk chocolate and it can have caramel, nuts or fruit but white chocolate is my weakness.

My Darling if we were to kiss again it would be heavenly, far better than any box of chocolates. I however would not have you forsake anything. I want you to have your cake and eat it too. I want to you to indulge yourself and to be indulged. I trust we will revel with abandon in wanton gluttony. I want pure hedonism. I want the chocolate and the kiss. I want it all. But most of all I want you!

Deliciously Yours

From Sir With Love

©2013 Darling and Sir

The Elder Sirs

My Dear Dashing Sir,

One memory touches my heart like no other. I find the topic to be unsettling on the one hand and appreciative on the other. I am talking about your parents. They were a paradox to me, because with you being so young your parents were quite advanced in age. They were actually older than my grandparents. You explained that they had you rather late in life, and I knew you were an only child.

We were headed to Newcastle to meet your parents, and boy were you nervous. I had never seen you so nervous.  It was very endearing. I believe I even teased you about it a few times, and you let me! Did I mention how nervous you were?!  We were staying nearby in The Hunter. Your father was in the hospital preparatory for surgery, and we headed over to see him and your mother.

The first thing that I noticed was how much your parents loved you. I could see it radiate from them when either of them looked at you. They adored you. The sun rose and set with you in their eyes, and their faces shown with unconditional parental love. I understood that, because it was how I felt when I looked at you too. I’m sure they saw it reflected on my face. I really couldn’t hide it, nor did I try to.

My first impression of your mother was that she was quite frail, but I equated that to the strain she was under worrying about your father. She was quiet but watchful; consequently, she was a true lady. I knew I was under the intense scrutiny I call the “mother’s microscope,” and I can’t blame her. You were her baby boy, and I was a strange American woman. I was more than happy to be analyzed. We had dinner later on that night with your mother and her friend. I distinctly recall whispering to you that I was worried about your mom. I could see her stress. You promptly went to her and encouraged her to get some rest. Your concern for her was tender, and it touched me deeply.

What to say about your father? He was such a rascally gem (like father like son?).  I can’t even tell you how long I sat next to him holding his hand while he entertained me with story after story. He would laugh and pat and squeeze my hand. I wasn’t letting go no matter how numb my hand went. His face was so animated, and I was an enthusiastic, willing audience. You wandered in and out of the room checking on us as you flitted about making sure everything was in order. You were the dutiful son.

I don’t remember what he and I were discussing, but I said the word “withdrawal.”  (I pronounced it with-drawl.) He looked up at you confused at what I just uttered. You understood instantly and said, “With-dra-wal, Father.” He nodded and looked relieved. He was afraid of offending me. He was a dear. I apologized to him for talking funny. He just laughed and probably made some wise crack.

I vividly recall him gazing intently at me, and I stared back – neither of us saying a word for a few moments. I didn’t feel uncomfortable or embarrassed in the slightest. He was still gripping my hand tightly. After some time, he looked over at you and said, “She’s beautiful son. Don’t let this one go.”  I blushed. You reassured him that you wouldn’t.  My heart was so full at this point.

Of course we needed some comic relief by this time, and your father gave us that as well. He went to get up and promptly flashed me when he threw the bedcovers back. You were there in an instant and tucked him back into bed. I’m sure I was a bit mortified, but we laughed about it later. You made some comment about me being privy to the family jewels.

I miss something I never had. How is that even possible?  I miss something I truly thought would happen at that time – a relationship with your parents. I get so angry when I hear you tell me how callous your ex was with your parents. I am not a violent person, but I’d love to pull her hair – hard. Hell, I’d love to snatch her bald. There was no reason to be a grade-A bitch towards them. They were the nicest people. I thoroughly enjoyed them. I feel so cheated out of getting to know them better. I never got the chance to personally tell them how I felt about their son, and to tell them that I loved you. That hurts my heart. I mentioned them briefly in my Epistle letter. I remember wondering specifically about your father and replaying over and over in my mind my short time with him. That memory always made me happy.  I am going to add what I said before in Epistle.

I wondered after your parents for the longest time. It was torture not knowing when your father passed. I assumed it was not long after I met him only to find out he lived another few years! He was a delight to me. Not knowing hurt. You took that from me. Then to find out that the woman of your black heart couldn’t be bothered with him and would callously wish he would die. Damn her. I will never forget him telling you how beautiful he thought I was and to never let me go. My laughter is quite hollow I assure you. I am also so incredibly saddened to hear that your mother has recently passed. Damn you.

At the end of the day, I am happy I got the chance to meet both of them. I would have rather met them and go through all the pain again than miss out on that opportunity. They were your parents. They gave the world you – my Sir. You are a perfect legacy of two great people, and the world is a better place for having known them.

So affectionately yours,



My Dearest Darling

Yes my parents were quite elderly. My mother was older than you are now when she had me. My father was only several years younger than your father is now when I was conceived. Growing up it was not an issue until I hit 5th grade. That’s when I began to notice their age. I remember a message filtered through the school that my grandfather was here to pick me up. What an entirely incongruous statement that was. Three of my grand parents had died before I was born and my maternal grand mother passed only eighteen months later. I never really knew any of my grandparents. Now Dad would have been close to 70 when he took me from school that day. I suddenly realised that they were old.

You are right though. I know my parents loved me very much, as I did them. I could not have asked for nicer people to have filled that role. No doubt I spoilt their retirement plans, though they never mentioned it. My mother was quite a bit younger than my father but even in this age of modern medical miracles it would be quite unusual for a woman of her advancing years to carry a child to term. In her case I was her first and last.

So I was nervous? I really don’t remember. I have no doubt you are right. I didn’t even put a fight when you mocked me about it. I must have been on edge. I can’t believe you took advantage of me in a weak moment. I really thought better of you (smiles).

My mother would have watched you like a hawk, of that I have no doubt and the friend she was with was a cagey one. She would have not been afraid to ask the difficult questions or put me on the spot. If I was nervous, it was with good reason. Up until you I had been a serial monogamist. But you knew then as you know now, things were different. We were going to marry. We had your two children to consider. There were many decisions yet to be made. While I wanted to shout it from the rooftops that I loved you like no other, however there were still many questions that we did not yet have answers for.

She knew you were important to me of that I am certain. I mean your photo made it into the hallowed gallery. I would cringe each time I visited my parent’s home. Like many loving household you would see pictures of family. Well, I being an only child, walking into my parents home was like walking into a shrine to my life. To say my mother was proud would be an understatement. Everything from winning academic trophies to meeting important notables to playing prestigious concert halls was all neatly catalogued on the walls, and you my Darling had a place in that shrine.

My father was quite the rogue. He had lived a colourful life. During the Depression he stowed away on a ship to try and find work in New Zealand. During WWII he had enlisted as a private, made corporal then sergeant, and he’d been busted back to private on a number of occasions before finally being dishonourably discharged for assaulting an officer. Like his son, he always had a healthy disrespect for authority. He could spin a good yarn and cut quite the dashing figure in his youth. I like to think I have adopted his more endearing habits while discarding his more disreputable ones. I have no doubt that he took a shine to you. He always had an eye for the ladies. He lived another five years after your departure.

One of the funniest things I remember after that time was a visit I paid to him in the last year of his life. I was there with my then wife and he inquired after you. Now he couldn’t remember your name but I remember him saying something along the lines of  – “Whatever happened to that American lass? I’m surprised you let that one slip through your fingers. What was her name again? Was it Helen?” Well we both know that is not your name. I corrected him on that fact. All the while my then wife sat seething to my right. I had to turn to my left to hide my considerable mirth at my Father’s quite tactless yet hysterically funny comments. I think it may have been the last time she ever saw him alive. Their relationship was frosty at best and I think his comments tipped her over the edge.

I could go in to quite a bit of depth about my ex wife’s perceived short comings. They would pale under the harsh glare when compared to my own inexcusable behaviour. Suffice it to say my parents were a burden to her. My father, who literally got on with everyone, never took to her and she loathed that he lived longer than her own father (who made his own dramatic exit from this world). 

My mother never really understood where you had gone and why she (my ex) had replaced you (let’s be honest here I never told mum). My ex hated mum’s intrusion into our lives. My ex had trouble understanding that, because I was an only child, all the decisions were made by me. I had no brothers and sisters to help share the load; all help could only be provided by me. With my mother’s failing health (and she being an only child herself), there was no family on her side that could be enlisted to help as well.

The biggest fight we ever had in our marriage was when I paid for her father’s funeral! For the life of me I could not understand her issue. It took quite the argument for me to establish that her real issue was not so much that I had paid for her father’s funeral, but that it set a precedent for me to pay for my own father’s funeral. I was astounded by her line of thinking. With an elderly mother of limited means, and me being the only child, who else would have paid? Would I only be allowed to organise a pauper’s funeral on his death? It was the final straw in our already rocky marriage. It teetered on for several more years but we were really only postponing the inevitable.

I am happy you met them my Darling. I know you didn’t spend much time with them, and that I robbed you of the chance to spend more. That you remember them so warmly makes me smile.


You Will Always Be My Darling

From Sir With Love

©2013 Darling and Sir

When Sir Slumbers

Dear Sir,

When you sleep I feel peace. For some reason it makes me extremely happy knowing you’re resting. I have watched you sleep before. I loved how your hair would get messy during the night from sleeping (well and other things).  Once in a while you’d open your eyes and catch me watching you, and then you’d smile at me, and I’d catch my breath

I can’t help but think “The Lion is Sleeping,” and woe unto the poor sot who awakens him. Then I’d do just that. You never complained….much.

I always wish you sweet dreams during your slumber.




My Somnolent Darling

It is funny that you remember me sleeping because when you graced me with your presence one of my most contented memories is of you asleep.

I am pleased that you feel peace knowing I slumber. While I know you need your sleep, when it is your bed time (anywhere between 4.00pm and 6.00pm my time), I become somewhat agitated. I know you may leave any moment. I know I will be left to face the night alone. Then six to eight hours later you awake, you have that sexy morning voice going on. It makes me, well I don’t think it needs explanation.

There are many things I would like to do one more time with you. Pulling the covers up, kissing you goodnight then falling asleep beside you is near the top of that list. I know the bed was just not for sleeping, but some of my most satisfying moments are of watching you slumber.

It is getting later here now. I am little tired and would normally go to bed. but you will awake in 90 minutes and I don’t want to miss it. I am flattered that you equate with me with a lion. You and I both know however that wherever you were concerned I was a timid little pussy.

Most Languidly

From Sir With Love

©2013 Darling and Sir



My Dearest Darling

You have spoken about the Golden Tickets, but the really big news was your imminent arrival. You arrived on a Sunday in March. The year was 1999. I think it was the 7th. I am fairly certain of the date as I was in the Hunter Valley to help organise and attend my father’s 90th birthday party. It was on the Saturday, you arrived the next day.

It was a big weekend. I had taken leave, I was in the Hunter. I had balloons to organise, presents; the venue had made significant errors in my bookings for the birthday celebration. So I, with all the aplomb I could muster, stepped in and made it right.

I had friends from Sydney come up for the weekend, one of whom would drive me back the next day. He was kind enough to collect me and drop me at the airport later that evening. You were almost here.

I being so over organised had converted the hours of your connections to Australian time so I knew when you’d leave Vegas, what time you’d depart LA and most important of all when you would arrive in Sydney. I went to bed on Saturday knowing you had boarded. I awoke knowing you were in the air. To say I had trouble containing my excitement would be an understatement. My friends, always used to me being the cool, calm collected one were a combination of bemused concern and I think a little afraid. When they saw me they knew how real it truly was.

I arrived back home. I have no idea what Tony and I talked about on the 3.5 hour trip. I remembered he offered to wait at the airport and drive us home later that evening. As you know I politely declined. Now my father’s party had been a boozy affair. There was much wine and some whisky consumed. I was already agitated by your imminent arrival so with a small hangover and not enough sleep I awaited your appearance.

I had delusions that I would sleep that afternoon. What a pointless idea that was. I had cleaned my under renovation home to within an inch of its life. The food and drinks you liked were in the pantry. There was nothing for me to do. I even tried playing the piano, normally a sure fire way to soothe my nerves. It didn’t help.

Tony, who had a reputation for tardiness, agreed he would call me to advise when he would pick me up. I made it quite clear that if he was late then I would just jump a cab. There would be no excuses today my Darling. To his credit, and for the only time in his life, he arrived early. By this time I was babbling fool. I was trying to keep my excitement under control. I could have jogged to the airport; I mean it was only 30 kilometres away. The pent up energy was enormous. He offered to wait again and I declined. He wished me luck as he dropped me off and I was on my own.

I found the Qantas terminal, checked your arrival time, inspected your exit gate, grabbed myself a bottle of water and awaited your touchdown. I have no idea how long I waited. It seemed like an age. I know I was there with some time to spare. I placed myself where the limousine chauffeurs stood to catch the attention of the jet lagged charges. One called me out on my position. I cut him down quite ruthlessly and received no more feedback from the conga line of drivers.

Then, after what seemed an eternity, you were there. I couldn’t remember what you were wearing. You reminded me just recently. What I remember was your face. It shone. I remember catching your eye and seeing you smile. I felt my heart skip a beat. The moment had become very real indeed. We shared a hug, made a little awkward by your attempt to skewer me with your luggage trolley. But that hug, well that’s when I knew. If there was ever any doubt it was blown away in that moment.

We somehow arrived at the cab rank and quickly grabbed a taxi. We sat in the back seat. I held your hand. I looked into your eyes. I was yours and you were mine. I loved you then as I love you now. The next two weeks were the greatest of my life.

You Will Always be My Darling

From Sir With Love


My Dear Tender Sir,

That day is such a significant part of my life. I remember getting up before the sun even arose. I had been packed for a couple of days. My kids were sorted and off to visit their grandparents while I was away.

I remember calling you from Los Angeles. I recall telling you, for the first time ever, how apprehensive I was. For one millisecond, I wondered if you’d be there to meet me. That was my character flaw, not yours. All I needed was to hear your soothing voice reassuring me that all was well and it would be all right. You allayed my fears, and I was calm. Once I left the United States soil, there was no turning back for me. I jumped in without hesitation. I was on my way.

I remember sitting next to a woman who hated to fly. She rubbed her rosary incessantly and whispered impromptu words of prayer. After 8 hours or so, she started to frazzle my nerves. I encouraged her to have another drink.

I believe I was one of the last ones to get through customs. I was exhausted but wired at the same time. I knew you were there somewhere. That damn airport was like a maze, and I felt like a bovine in a herd. It was endless, and I specifically recall pushing my luggage cart, turning a corner and coming to a ramp, and thinking “How many more hoops do I need to jump through, before I’m done?”

I started to go down a long ramp. I was looking at the floor deep in thought. I glanced up and saw this tall, dark-haired man, at the bottom of the ramp, with his arms crossed – grief he was tall. He was rugged and dashing. He was staring at me! I fought the urge to look around and make sure I wasn’t mistaken. He was smiling – at me! He was a real-life Mr. Darcy (swoon), and I could feel the masculinity sizzling off him.

Oh my gosh, Mr. Darcy was Sir. My Sir! Suddenly, I was unsteady, and it had nothing to do with jet lag. You were real. You were there waiting for me. You were a sight for sore, travelled eyes, and heavens you made my pulse race and the blood rush to my head. I believe you said, “Hi there.” I was tongue-tied and daft.

As for my run-a-way luggage cart, I blame you. You had me so incredibly flustered that I just let go of it (that’s my story and I’m sticking to it). I can still hear you laugh when it hit you. Yes, that first hug was a bit awkward but only for a few seconds. You reached around and reeled me in. You wrapped me up in your long arms, and you didn’t let go. It was no longer awkward; it became real. I was very self-conscious of how I must have looked and smelled from my international travel, but you didn’t care – not one bit. For a moment the world stood still.

I admit I don’t remember much after that except gripping your hand like it was a lifeline. You just took charge, and I didn’t need to worry about anything from that point on. I felt safe and secure. You never stopped smiling. And your eyes – my word your eyes (more on them later) pierced through me.

The next section of our journey was beginning, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Unequivocally yours,


©2013 Darling and Sir

Are You A Stalker?

Hello My Darling

At 1.25pm on Wednesday 18th September 2013 an anonymous text message appeared on my phone. “Hello Mr………” it read. There was no contact information so I did not know the sender. The number was however showing but I failed to identify it as being international.

Now before I go on I must say I went through an incredibly bitter and acrimonious divorce. During that time I received a number of physical threats. While I am not one to back down from such encounters, I did decide to make myself somewhat difficult to track when I relocated.

I had not received such a threat for some time but I was instantly wary. I somewhat aggressively replied “are you a stalker?” The response “geez no,” followed by a quick “my apologies.” I then asked the sender to identify them self, to which I was advised that their picture should have appeared along with the message. I decided to attempt some humour and stated that the picture was all black and white and that it looked a bit like a poor police sketch and I was therefore having trouble making out the details. In fact all I could see was the generic avatar used by the phone for any caller without an image.

I had no idea who was messaging me, but they clearly knew me. After some banter about messaging apps, it was made clear to me it was an international text. That narrowed the field. Even after 14 years I thought (even fleetingly) could this be Darling? I quickly discounted the possibility. I was actually meant to be in the U.S. on vacation at the time. I thought it could be one of the party I would’ve been travelling with. They would have taken some pleasure in making tasteless jokes about my location in relation to theirs. The other option, and I cringe even now to dwell on it, was my reply. “Being called Mr ……… always make me think. I know a delightful young lady from Texas who calls me that, doubtful she would text however.”

I still had no clue at this stage. The next message however gave it all away . “No…….. I am thinking this was erroneous of me. I am sorry.” To which in part I replied “there is only one person who I could think of, but dare I hope?” The clue my Darling was “erroneous.” Not a common word. A word, I would say, that the better educated amongst us might use. I knew it was you!

So still playfully I thought, well my Darling doesn’t wish to identify herself just yet, so I will play along. You had me download a messaging app. I installed it, but before we switched our lines of communication you made one last statement. “You never said who you think I am.” My reply I thought both clever and elegant “I suspect I may quite literally hold a candle for you, along with your purple pyjamas.”

Now before I go any further, I should remind you that when you were last here we bought a scented candle in Leura. That night we lit it, and as it burned we shared some time together in a gorgeous old claw footed bath. As mentioned briefly, here we both know you’d left your pyjamas behind. However when you departed we also divided the remains of that candle.  

You confirmed that purple was still your favourite colour and my world turned upside down.

I have replayed that text exchange on so many occasions since. After fourteen and a half years you had garnered the strength to text me. My first words, “are you a stalker?” You then wished to know if I knew who it was. My reply, “a delightful young lady from Texas.” Now in reality that line sounds like the introduction to a bawdy limerick*. The truth of the matter is that I do know a young lady from Texas. She is a thirteen year old high school student who had stayed with a close friend’s family while here on exchange. I had gotten to know her at the time as we shared our passion for all things Doctor Who (the British TV show celebrating its 50th season this year). All very innocent, but goodness knows what you were thinking? The last time we had spoken I had run off with another woman, now my current flame is Texan! It is a wonder you even continued the communication.

Well there you have it, our first contact in almost fifteen years. What I really must say is thank you.

You Will Always Be My Darling

From Sir With Love


Dear Lovely Sir,

In an earlier letter, I touched briefly on what led up to our first communication exchange in nearly 15 years. It still seems surreal when I think back on it. I have to constantly tell myself that I’m talking to Sir after all these years. THE Sir.

As I mentioned, I don’t recall looking for you until quite recently, and it wasn’t an extensive search. It’s nearly comical how it all played out. I was looking for a specific place in The Hunter Valley where we had stayed. On a whim, I put your name into the search engine alongside the other words – and there you were. I was stunned. I can still feel the shock wash over my body. I didn’t know what to do with the information presented before me, and I wasn’t sure if I should do anything with it. I let it simmer in my mind for days.

Then the day was here. I was sitting on the floor of my bathroom looking at my phone. I had Googled how to text international numbers and even checked my cell phone plan to get an idea of how much it would cost. I can’t tell you how long I sat there. What was the worst that could happen? You could tell me you didn’t care to hear from me. You could have told me to get bent. All these scenarios ran through my head. My ‘wondering’ got the better of me. I wanted to know if you were happy. I just decided to go for it.

“Hello Mr. ——.”

Then you asked me if I was a stalker. Whoa! Seriously? I let that roll over me, and I immediately apologized. My head was reeling. Did I want to continue?

You asked me who I was, and I am still aghast that I answered by questioning if my picture had shown up with my text message. The rational, thinking side of me knew that wasn’t possible due to the fact that in order for that to happen you had to do it from your side.  That shows how the whole incident was affecting me; I wasn’t thinking properly. I was trying to keep any emotion from overcoming me. I was on auto-pilot.

When you asked if I was a “delightful young lady from Texas,” I wondered what I had walked into. If a woman with a drawl was your lover then I wanted no part of interfering on any level. I admit that I was quickly thinking how to gracefully bow out at this point, but I knew I wouldn’t have an answer to my question if I did. I bit the bullet and carried on. My disassociation cruise control was still working at the moment.

I wanted you to download a free communication app out of consideration. I didn’t want you to rack up international fees by texting. I was surprised when you remarked that you never noticed that the texts were coming from an international number; proof that you weren’t on your game as well. It made sense when you explained about the threatening phone calls, but I was not privy to that information at the time. I was just confused.

When you texted that you still had my purple pajamas, I was beyond dazed. I couldn’t fathom why you’d have them. As I’ve acknowledged prior, I was under the impression that you despised me. You remarked to me that you noted how long it took me to respond after you sent that line. I was having trouble comprehending it all. I was clueless about the candle and what it meant.

As you’ve so sweetly mentioned my stubbornness, it served a purpose and it didn’t let me down during this emotional exchange.  I was determined to get the answer I wanted – if you were happy. I was having trouble believing that you wanted to talk with me. You were and are willing to ford the turbulent waters of mistaken beliefs and set things right. I think your stubbornness rivals my own.

And our journey continues……

Love always,


An example of Sir’s dodgy limerick writing skills
A delightful young lady from Texas
A delightful young lady from Texas
Who never wore more than a necklace
The beads would go slack
When she arched her back
I’m not rhyming this line, I’m not feckless  
©2013 Darling and Sir

Smile For Me

Written by Darling for Sir. She always says to him “smile for me.”


Smile for me

Because I can feel it

In my soul


It permeates my soul

And fills my whole being

With warmth


Your warmth comforts me

And embraces me completely

In you


You are so beautiful

And very real

So smile for me


By Darling ©2013 TSL