clinging to the wreckage

You once came out with one of the most accurate analyses of life that I have ever heard… you said ‘Sex leads to emotion. Emotion leads to love. Love leads to stupidity. Stupidity leads to marriage and children.’ I must confess that it was brilliant. Still, this morning I see the world through different eyes. It is Saturday morning and I do not need to get out of bed to face endless amounts of pressure. I am sick with some strange virus and, with all the panic about Ebola, that is never a good thing. Never the less, I feel almost happy. Jets To Brazil’s Mid-Day Anonynmous plays as I type and a cup of hot coffee soothes my soul even if I am drinking it from your mug. Somehow the reminders are no longer so painful because this time I have had to let go… I simply have no other choice, for it is clear that you would rather do anything than interact with me and, of course, I am not a child who believes that you are sitting around alone and feeling sorry for yourself. I

There is joy and there is pain. There is little to gain from thinking of you. You reappeared and reignited hope and happiness only to retreat rapidly and lash out with venom at my attempts to show love. But there is some joy in the productivity of the weekend days and mid-week evenings. Time to spend studying, reading, listening to music and so on. Weekend nights, however, turn to tragedy when I watch a film in an attempt to escape and you fill my mind until it overflows with memories of what we once shared. Now you share your bed with others and I fade fast into an increasingly distant past.