The Day Before The Day

March Eighteenth Two Thousand And Eleven To April Twelfth Two Thousand And Twelve.

We've walked a thousand miles.

You and I.

Travelled the world together. 

As An adventurous Duo.

Yet I was leaving you tomorrow. 

What did our futures hold for us?

I was at peace. 

I know you wanted it to be a hundred percent right.

You were waiting to get it right. 

But no strands were to tie you to me, all but one. 

I wanted you to have,

That final strand of connection.

As a parting gesture. 

From me to you.

The fishhook Maori Greenstone. Delicately carved.

Each bond, lovingly interwoven 

By you, then me, 

You...Me..You..Me.

Hadn't vows been made then?

You'd worn this chain for years. 

Now taken off your neck, in one moment of tested faith.

My faith said, that on your neck is where it belonged.

A two hour trek later,

I'm in London's Camden,

The Maori Greenstone artist

Studied my expression.

Pensively he asked - Why is this so important to you?

Oh, I leave for New Zealand tomorrow.

And I want to braid a Greenstone

For my man. I might never meet him again.

I was at peace, but he could sense my anguish 

As I spilled those final words.

'The truth will win', he said.

'And here, have this, I want you to have, as a gift'

You say yes, you want us to braid the stone again.

Like we did years ago.

In a university square, in a world all our own.

You..Me..You..Me.

I'm home at last. And packing my bags.

My back is to you.

So how will out story end?

What happens next is worth guessing.

Let's fast forward to the airport

Where we finally braid the Precious Stone.