The English poet, Alfred, Lord Tennyson once wrote, “Tis better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all.”

I tried twenty-eight years with the first, and it hurt, oh it fucking hurt when it ended, apparently it hurt her more, I was confidently told by her, but I doubt that, I seriously doubt that, but pain shouldn’t be a competition, so I will let that thought go.

I have lost so much in my life, family, friends, security, careers, contentment, loves, homes, animals and hope itself, but I bounce back well you see, because I have to,

Right…right?

Cue the melancholy music in the background.

Did Tennyson think memories of former loves would console and comfort, or cajole one to action to still wanting a life missed that is now lost?

I was not lost yet then. Lightning did strike and I captured it in a bottle and watched it dance for me and she was beautiful…

For I found a new love, a gem, magically so, from the outset, with a twirl and a twinkle, a kiss and much romance, it felt as if the universe pushed her into my arms and said, “Here she is, she’s all yours, don’t fuck it up son.”

Many a song and poem eloquently talk of second chances, new adventures, new wonders, new laughter, fresh embraces, her hand in mind and always on my mind, a magnet that aligned with mine and her own to me.

Fucking wonderful and rich, earthmoving and damn beautiful like a hundred sunsets bursting from a horizon upon waking from a fevered nightmare of loneliness and despair.

That was me…

But I feel I am a bad egg morally, underserving of any accolades of bravery and courage and fortitude, and discipline. Knowing my Father’s history a little, and my father’s father even less, along with my brothers, I feel a small curse has percolated into my blood to always be fated a fateful outcome no matter the decisions made.

Such praise has been heaped upon me in my growing as a child into manhood, but I am afraid the bar was always beguiled in other’s eyes as compared to others who were woefully low, so how could anyone but not think I was an angel in all things with no competition when the devil was racing in first place in front of me.

How indeed, as you can see I don’t think too much of the me that is me.

Therein lies the curse.

I have always felt apart, alone from the very start of me, like a firefly in the dark amongst a myriad of other flickering lights with none answering back.

It only took a few looks of disdain, a word or two of disgust and accusation whether deserved or not to send me to spiral into a nothingness which has been hard to pull myself from.

I don’t do well when I am suddenly the villain and the surrounding actor’s lines are designed to un-wide me, and malign me to a mere trope and cliche of malice and mayhem as they take nothing into themselves, all seemingly seem innocent since the day they were born.

I did love, and I lost, and then I did love again Lord Tennyson…but what happens when you lose it all over again?

by Philip Wardlow November 10th, 2026