The sun hid behind a slate stacked January morning on the coast, when I stepped in to a clairevoyant's shop. The winter emptiness contrasted with this enchanted place, which had an openess, a warmth hidden away. The owner smiled, inviting me to sit, resting my arm on green beize; crouched on the far edge of that table were a crystal ball and pack of cards the tools of the trade. My eyes chattered endlessly while I looked at her face.

One hand cradled mine and the warmth was welcome on the winters morning, any chill evaporated in the kindling of her touch. She pushed back her headdress and began the archaeology of the flesh, the free hand swept over my blanched palm, retracing the silent, dusty years.

Those jewellers eyes bobbed as she coloured in brighter days. As I listened, the voice grew distant, dreamy even as she dipped into the raggedy cross-stitch of my hand. The sound drifted from some dull, forgotten place, but the feathery touch lit candles of delight.

The muffled voice grew in pitch as she asked, who I wanted to forgive? The surprise took me back to a bluebell wood – my eyes watered at the memory. The moment when I knew that my love would never be reciprocated, so I spent decades dwelling on misfortune. It seemed a lifetime ago, so what good would come from unearthing September roses?

Since, brief relationships kept me from being hurt; although it felt safe wrapped in mistrust, I was tempted to do away with those ties. Then to my regret, one day no one seemed to care, if I leapt into the light.

After what seemed like an age, I looked up at the palmist, whose voice peeled away layers of musty habit. A bells clapper was swinging in my head, announcing a great mistake, but, she would not let go, still wanting to know, who I wanted to forgive? A sudden moment of awakening occurred as if I were Sleeping Beauty in reverse.

“Damn it, me,” I said angrily. The crystal ball and pack of cards were replaced by a shining cup. As I lifted my gaze, I saw another face.

The winter chill jolted me into the present, the Palmist had that knowing smile. She looked at me for what seemed a long moment and said,

“I get a lot of client’s like yourself, wander out of a fog, confused from a world they seem to know. Quickly, all's revealed - a settling occurs and they leave relieved. I give them a drop of tenderness - spiritual advice.” There was a softness to her tone. What were narrow pupils relaxed and large black dishes returned.

I felt the warm kindling of her cradling palm still holding my outstretched hand. Still there was that awful feeling that a grip was slipping. Again, an awakened passion would be snuffed out and darkness envelope that new found space.

“Please listen carefully to what I say, you have to start forgiving yourself first before others, otherwise it lacks honesty. It's pointless dredging the past, you must live with what has happened. In the remaining time, you may or may not have the intimacy you so desire, but continuing to hide will certainly prevent others seeing your genuine kindness.”

I thanked her for the frankness, settled up and left