clinging to the wreckage

I had the joy of speaking to you today… and to your beautiful daughter. I wish I could express to you how I feel. I wish I could explain how much it means to me… how much you mean to me. And yet I must leave you behind and accept that you are beyond me and involved heavily in your life with all the components thereof… one of which I am not. My words are bordering on pathetic. They are pathetic. If you were to read them you would probably feel nauseated and wish that you had not spoken to me. It is said, and I agree, that love is a cruel disease.

Each event in our lives is mixed with excitement, joy, hope, pain, suffering and sorrow. We can never make everyone happy with the decisions we make and we can never have all things perfect. To move on to something, something else must be left behind. Opportunities mean that certain people, animals, bonds, comforts must be left behind so that we can venture into the unknown. What is it all about? What is the right thing to do? If we sit still and contribute all that we can we are told that we are unambitious and that we are afraid of change and will never progress. If we show ambition and make change and leave certain things behind we are treated like we are selfish or a traitor.             And so it is that I have the opportunity to go to work in Madrid, Spain, and I feel privileged and honoured to have received this offer. I am excited at the prospect of visiting Madrid and actually working there. However, it means that my cats are potentially on the brink of

I stank of smoke and didn’t mind because it was your smoke. We’d stood outside together, alone in the rain, and I felt the first bits of warmth begin to soak into my bones. I invited you to lunch and you agreed, so we walked to the hotel where you drank coffee and I drank beer. You opened up for the first time in years and it was like a magical unwinding of the clock, I was transported back to when the flames burnt brightly upon the furnace of our passion. I wondered why… I wanted us to return to what we had… do you not realise that you are still the one I love and want? Sat there beside you I gazed at your lips and your eyes and desired nothing more than to touch your face and to kiss you deeply as we used to. I would write more but I am too drunk.

sometimes even i fear the things i write

White blue days drift rapidly past as I gaze out of my window and sip upon a drink. The drink gradually blurs reality as I see my neighbours walk by. A couple and one child. They look into my window and see me as I take a sip and I see the look of pity/fear/judgement in their eyes. It makes me feel better. Their house is up for sale and I hope that two Suicide Girls move in next door. But, sadly, the couple I saw looking at the house were the classic Guildford couple; conservative, clean, neat, wealthy… the desperation to ‘start a family’ shone brightly from their eyes. I wonder if they get a discount for the hermit that lives in the house next door. He writes, he reads, he has a degree upon the wall, he listens to punk rock and gets drunk but he never ever speaks. Nothing different… ever… just the perpetuation of tradition. I need to move to America where one retains the right to self-destruct.

I can’t sleep to save my life. And in the few restless moments of sleep that I do get there are no dreams to save me from a painful reality in which I tend to do things that I regret; such as messaging people when I’m drunk and asking them to come and see me. The problem in this is that I message people who know each other and I can imagine there is a frenzy of gossip messaging discussing the lonely drunk seeking company. It’s pathetic. As usual, I emerge from drunken reverie wishing that I had a time machine so that I could set it back to yesterday and undo what I said. And yet, at the same time, there is a defiant side of me that tells me I have done no wrong. I have no reason to behave like a prude simply because I think the ones I love or want will one day end my waiting and finally flock to my side. There is no pale-skinned, raven-haired beauty waiting in the wings to save me from myself and as I resort to cliché I end this piece before it saddens me further.

We walked down to the beach, Malibu beach, and sat upon the scorching sand. Her hair was tied back but for a few strands that flirted freely in front of her face. As I sat fixated she took my hand and held it. I realised that there was nowhere on the planet I’d rather be… no one on earth I’d rather be with. The world couldn’t seem more perfect.             ‘you must be so content.’ She said.             ‘I am.’             ‘There are so many beautiful women on the beach.’             ‘I have not seen a single woman on this beach beside you.’ What I said was true. She was magnificent and everyone else faded into a backdrop of insignificance.             ‘Ahhh, you say the most beautiful of things.’ She whispered. A few hours later our friendship was over forever.