Break. Break.

After walking away for the second time. I too walked, pulling myself off the brick wall. Not looking back behind, I break. I put on my scarf, groves and hat and walk to the number 8. The lyrics to ‘build a home’ resonate, the triumphant piano builds and builds. I will build a home for you, for me.
Sitting there, all my concentration is on the music, to stop emotion manifesting. When the piano begins to fade and the violin starts. There are tears. Then there he is. His smile is aluminous and it reflects over to me. He touches my head, I fall into his chest. I break again. ‘God I’m so sorry, I told you that I was rude, modern and rude. Please lets go home.’

It occurs to me that there is no difference between, how near? How far? That the length of both are as endless as each other and when I ask each question I realize how lost I am. And that I the longer I look the further away everything seems to be.

Did you kiss it? Ways out.

For over a year, I stopped recording. All the thoughts, seductive gestures and words exchanged.




Then I gave in, as I do too often and looked over this site. I no longer could stand the numbness of all the work I was doing. Reading over my harsh words I began living vicariously through my previous life, another previous I have grown out of. And concluded that all that had finished. Happily I am wrong. I had learnt to suppress and ignore, like all good young people do.
I have to believe there is still something romantic about my disposition that I can’t lose, some kind of modern optimism.

But then I watched a scene where she allows her eyes to sink into him, with love written all over her face. It is her vulnerability or lack of guardedness that I wish I could breath with. She was so unashamed, brave in herself. She touched him and said

“You knock my socks off.”

I want honesty in my character. Between myself and what it is that I am expecting.

I loved none of them. I looked at them all shyly and thought there was possibility with such negativity underlining it all. Love never grew or blossomed. It only inhabited in the beginning, superficially like a hangover; for the longer I stayed the less I seemed to be able to give, give up and even possibly worse, let go. I talk so courageously of pouring hearts and blazing organs but I feel no such things. Blue coats and yellow vests have become something of a uniform, something of a concrete armor. What is worse is that I watch myself complete the cycle every time. I look for ways out, moments to disappears into. I am so unsuccessful.

I didn't write that right...

I talk about boys as waves or storms. That they come crashing or cause havoc. There is one, that works like a mist. He is so silent and so attractively inoffensive what when he kissed me I thought my world was growing. Growing in lust. Which is why I can’t forgive myself for forgetting him and even letting him go time after time. For someone I neither understand and feel totally closed off to. It is totally selfish when I say I feel no displacement with him. I am nothing but myself in his company. No second guessing or harsh words to digest about my worries or self-loathing characteristics all the others felt so happy to laugh at me with. There is no sign of judgment, though I know there is, which is why I write about him instead of... And why he is just other one, on the ever growing list. Growing lists. Ever growing lists, of smiles and kisses, scares, weaknesses and disappointments.

HE IS CHOCOLATE

He is so sweetly satisfying. He is chocolate. When words fail me too often. I find the perfect words here, for this one. HE IS CHOCOLATE. I am the gazer, I watch from afar afraid in hope he is not aware at how awkward and suspicious I feel. I know he doesn’t see me, that I belong to a crowd but watch him move around his space, with such ease, it makes me want to lick the small trial of hair that runs up his stomach. I wonder if he has a girlfriend, with her own dirty thoughts, in her beautiful brain. She IS so beautiful and so happy and natural, everything I am not, I imagine. I imagine that I will forever be invisible.

All so emptying...

Do I feel his silent surprise, or his eyes on my hips as he follows me up stairs? When we shake hands on our goodbye, is there a cut off moment when our hands have been clasped for too long?

wrong, Wrong, WRONG