Monthly Archives: December 2009

10. very nearly our year. but not quite.

it’s odd to think i’ll be leaving this year behind so soon. it was a year of growth, of pain and happiness and love. i almost want to do a flashback to all the key moments of the last year, to relive them again, to go back and breathe the fresh air of the park in the summer, when me and Y laid there looking at the clouds.

i want to go back to the valentines day that was a bit of failure, but still beautiful in its simplicity. to relive the moment when one man asked me and Y “are you two together” and how i flashed him my most striking smile and, laughing ever so slightly, said “kind of”. it was so complicated and simple. but that was then.

i want to go back to the phonecalls me and Y would have. maybe that record 3 hour 22 minute conversation when we first said that we loved each other. we didn’t mean it, not then, but it was a magnificent moment still. i don’t know if that was this year or last, but hey, it’s there somewhere. it’s in the memories attributed to Y and this was his and my year. very nearly our year. but not quite.

you know, boy, me and Y had spent so much time hiding. there was one time in the park when we saw someone we knew and we immediately split up, trying to act casual, not managing, but still getting away unseen by him.
or that time when everyone kept asking us if we were together and i, twiddling the ring he gave me, laughingly told them that no, we were not going out. and we weren’t.

a little way into our friendship, that was closer than platonic friendship could ever be, i told Y not to ever ask me out, not to ever put me into position of having to refuse him.
i wouldn’t change that if i could. it wasn’t that i wasn’t ready to commit, i just wasn’t ready to commit to him.

and now this year is nearly over, i recount those memories and love them.
love them because they bring me happiness in knowing that there was a time i loved, and in knowing that, i know i’ll love again.


cras amet qui numquam amavit quique amavit cras amet
‘Let those love now, who’ve never loved; let those who’ve loved, love yet again.’


9. why would he do that?

Z is even worse than i remembered him. inarticulate responses, vacant stare in only one direction, spotty complection, virtually no manners. an almost typical geeky C-grade student.

not my type.

i like the big grins, the flourishing resoponses embellished with sarcasm, the gentlemen that can tell me a thing or two about the world, that can discuss the politics, laughingly, quoting the newspapers, maybe, or politicians. i like the guys who smell of aftershave so strong you can sense it from a distance, whose playfully open top button reveals a glint of collarbone. i like them like you and X and Y and yet like none of you.

but Z – no.

and yet it was interesting today. maybe for that exact reason, it was a real discovery of myself, of him, of how far i’ve moved on in the short space of time i’ve not seen him.
i used to be indifferent, now i was repelled.
i was appalled at how my playful reminder of today’s meeting was responded to in such a brief and abrupt manner that i almost wondered if it was a burden to him, but the spelling mistake reminded me of what sort of person i was dealing with and i knew it was just his carelessness.
 i haven’t forgotton
you’d do so much better than that. as would X or even Y, who isn’t even really mine.

talking of Y, it was quite strange tonight to recieve a text from him, few minutes before midnight, telling me, almost lovingly, to have sweet dreams. mixed signals or am i just seeing things? i double checked, you know, to see if it really was from him. it was the sort of text that X would send and i thought that maybe in my sleepy state i replaced one name with another, confused myself.

but no, it was Y’s name above the message in morning.
it was his name even in the afternoon.
it’s his name still even now.

now tell me, why would he do that?

8. what if i was to say i like crashing cars?

today was good, no matter the weather, which seemed to personify you, be you:
it was a rainy day. the sort of gloomy day one might transpire if they wished to ruin someone’s plans.
because plans are fragile. like faberge eggs – one gentle tap and they may fall to the ground, all the hard work, the beauty instilled within obliterated.

but no, that’s unfair:
you wouldn’t wish me to mourn your temporary passing, sitting at home miserably sipping tea, earl grey, no less. you wouldn’t want me staring blankly out of the window, all day, as if my sole look outside will make you come back. no. you’d rather i mourned your going away in a manner that made it seem i was glad you went.
that way, you wouldn’t have to feel guily.

so, yes, it was raining. not just drizzling, no. a downpour from the skies, like someone running a tap up there, the water coming down in huge fat drops, not dissimilar to leeches overgorged on blood.

i despaired.

i thought that ice-skating was a gone thing. thankfully, X wouldn’t give up. no. he changed our plans to accomodate the weather:
we went ice-skating still, just in a contained space, so that there was no rain to stop us. so that both of us could still do what we had originally planned. it was beautiful. really lovely. maybe not as idyllic as i would have liked, but hey… it was good. can’t complain, right?

somehow, i’m not sure what it is that i want any more. i thought i did, but that was time ago now. the plan was to drop him and be with you. i was going to give up on the crashing car, as you reffer to him. i was going to give you the chance you deserve.

but boy, what if i can’t do that any more?
what if i was to say that i like crashing cars?

a storm somewhere on the brink of infinity…

a storm somewhere on the brink of infinity
where love is sand, blasting against the face,
a passionate embrace of the grains with the skin,
swirling together in holy matrimony, blood – communion wine,
falling down like sweet tears, blind rain.

water washed away by water
as the tide comes in and out,
each wave a new beginning,
a silent  backlash
against everything that ever was.  

and sometimes prose isn’t enough to describe all i feel, sometimes every story must have a little bit of a mystery to it, an excerpt, an addition to it.
i won’t explain why it is here, why it was not published yesterday or how it relates. it is the little mystery you shall have to work out for yourselves. 

but if all else fails, just take it as a poem, because that’s all it ultimately is.
a poem in a sea of prose.   


7. if only for a little while

i wonder if i’ve gone crazy in the last couple of months, assuming that everyone but me is wrong, at least a little wrong in their perception of life. maybe it was i who was wrong, who pushed people to the brink, making them close up like a venus trap. then again, maybe it was them. hey, who knows. all i know is, things seem so much different these days.

take X for example.

called him today – we’re going ice-skating tomorrow you see. i wasn’t going to mourn your going away by sitting at home thinking of how much fun you must be having listening to all those people talking in a language so much more fluid than mine, with much sexier accents than mine, their much sharper features than mine making you fall in love with them.

so yes, as i was saying… i called him up just now, a little while ago. we have just finished the conversation in fact. didn’t expect much from that phone call really. you know how it is – no substance, pauses stretching into what seems like eternity, that sort of stuff. but that wasn’t it. that wasn’t it at all. he talked so well, so freely, as if he wasn’t the boy i used to know at all. as if he wasn’t the reason i turned to you for conversation and understanding in the first place. as if he changed. as if i changed him. 

it’s strange, you know, i can almost picture a happy ending with him.
not quite bliss, but something close.
mutual awareness of the world around us.
yes, i can see it all – the galleries, the parties, even the nights in. i couldn’t see that there before. maybe because i didn’t believe.
but what changed?

so we talked for an hour, me and him. it wasn’t forced as usual, it wasn’t difficult on either party. it was comforting. 
with you gone, if only for a little while, i know i can now put the effort into me and him. there were times i thought i could avoid it. there were times i resented him for even being there, but he cares. as do you of course, but you won’t be there, so your eyes won’t have to witness my betrayal.

enjoy your trip to france, boy.

au revoir!
if only for a little while

6. help me to answer the question

it’s crazy how i’ve become dependent on my conversations with you. i’ve learnt to care about what you have to say and sometimes i just want to call you spontaneously, i just want to grab you and hold you here and never let you go.
then, sometimes, i just want you gone, completely, out of my life. i want you to leave, using the very same door you used to get in here, leave without leaving any traces of you in my heart, my home, my life.

i even know what it is that makes me feel like this. that’s right, i know.

it’s your posh, middle class ideals;
your typical perfect family with a mother that cooks, cleans, looks after the home and father who sits in the evenings reading a quality newspaper; 
your unwillingness to experience the world through teenage eyes preffering instead to live your life as a person of double your age would.

and yes, it’s wonderful to watch plays and attend dinner parties, but i want more than a boy acting middle-aged. i want that maturity without the deeply ingrained conservative inclinations, without the Kafka-style cynicism about humanity. could you do that?

and i wonder if you could, sometimes. i wondered about it today. it was wonderful, really: realising that i’ve found something so close to my ideal that i will never be able to make it my ideal, no matter how hard i try; realising that my ideal is unattainable and that an arrogant blue-eyed, blond, mathematically-inclined, yet literature-aware boy (provided one existed, and i’m sure that there are some) would never look upon me with anything but dismay. and even if i managed to show him my true self without him walking away at first, he’d still leave, because i’d only be a notch on his bed-post, a phase. a little like you are to me.

after Y, i realise, that i don’t need a boy to make me happy. i thought i’d never be able to let him go, but i have. i managed, somehow. it’s beautiful, wouldn’t you say? it’s odd, too. it’s odd how things change so quickly and effortlessly and how i, being able to psycho-analyse the lot of you, was unable to understand mayself at all.

i still don’t think i know myself, because, now, having found out you’re going to france for not even a week to spend your new year there, i feel sad. betrayed almost. how could you leave me? what will i do without our conversations? how will i cope without your shoulder to lean on?

strange. i felt like that with Y and look what’s happened. i can’t even talk to him without getting irritated. sometimes mildly, sometimes to the point where i need to then have heated discussions about him with you. or my dad. or my mum. 

and yet, you somehow think i’m still competing for him, but i just laugh it off. it’s nonsensical. there is no truth in it. i don’t want him, no. i think i may have loved him one time, a while back now. hell, maybe he even loved me.

then again, what is love?
that’s a question i can’t answer for some reason, so help me to. please help me to.

5. routines aren’t the same on sundays


went to bed at eight last night. woke up at five. felt like i needed that, considering i wake up at five every day without fail – the papers won’t deliver themselves.

i don’t know why i set out to deliver papers in the first place. maybe it was the money, but then again, the money’s bad – half of what a paper-round just about anywhere else would earn you. maybe it was the lack of things to do, but i leave home at quarter past seven most days and return gone five. in the end, i figured it must have been the structure, the routine. the getting up at the same time, the getting dressed, the shower upon the return, the rushed breakfast, the badly-made sandwiches thrown hastily into the bag, the mad scramble for the rail ticket (sometimes made worse by realisation that i had forgotten to purchase it the day before) and then the sigh of relief at getting to the station on time and catching that train.

but routines aren’t the same on sundays.

i woke up early today. yes, dearest, i recieved your text upon waking up. even replied to it at five thirty, still in bed, typing furiously, using up so many of my available messages. acknowledged your apologies (but for what were you to apologise for? that missed phonecall? the fact that you went out to see a play? my dear, that is nothing to be apologetic for!). read the messages from X and Z (how queer it is that you all texted me within the hour last night, when i was already sleeping) and decided to keep them waiting for a little while.
in any case, i had to rush off to do the papers. 

and then not thirty minutes ago now, you replied to my early morning text – a lovingly-crafted text, so sublimely rich in adoration and yet not clingy in the least. the statement hope you’re not missing me juxtaposed with although i am missing you . you know, it’s almost as if you were wooing me. if i didn’t know better, i’d think you were. but i do.

and i know that you’ll love me in silence.
you’ll love me without asking for love back.
i’ll reply to that text in the evening or maybe in the afternoon. for now, i’ll keep you waiting.