I can see shoes, tights, library books never likely to be returned, two pairs of boots, paintings, flip flops, a woolly hat with a red fluffy top which angers the ratdog when shaken in front of his face, knickers, tights, bunny ears which I bought for her at Lotte World in Seoul, a writing book filled with basic german grammar and verbs, a pile of my writing topped by a love poem and depraved devotion of filth, both written many years ago, but recently read...to remind who??? her or me?? I can't recall.
I can see everything but the girl. Who is right now, as I write, retreating at an astonishing 400 miles per hour, away from the epicentre of my existence. For how long, I cannot say. Though the suggestion is apparent, of permanence. A True End to something of whose very nature, I remain unknowing. Merely suspicious...Time may tell, or Time may tell nothing. It is a great healer, but not always an eye opener to Truth that is sought, for peace of mind, or worse, to relive and continue the pain...This pain. A morbid darkness which drifted into the skies of my emotive innards, unseen by the guards...They were stoned, or drunk. Whatever their poison, they didn't notice or could not prevent it's entrance.
Our goodbye was rushed, and typically potent. 5 minutes previously we had been laughing together, whilst playing Crosswords in a puzzle book she had bought to help kill the boredom of flying long distance. The happy couple. Loving. Kissing over the middle of the table in Mcdonalds. We were warm. Until she suddenly started to panic about missing her flight, and decided she wanted to go through to the departure lounge. She had an hour and a half to spare, which I told her, but I guessed she was trying to deal with the emotions which were suddenly flaring up inside her. I took her to the departure gate, held her in my arms. We kissed...for a minute or more...passionately, sensually...tears streaming down first her cheeks, then mine...harder to look each other in the eye...as it intensified the mutual pain...I told her I still loved her, wished her a safe trip. She said she was sorry...that she loved me. and then turned and walked away, without looking back. I know she didn't look back because I turned to watch her leave. I watched her until her orange cloak and jet black hair had left my field of vision completely...More crying. But I held myself together pretty well after that...At southern cross railway station, I smoked a rollie with a cardboard roach, my hood hanging over my face, a forlorn, lonely figure...I held a screwdriver in my left hand, which was concealed in my coat pocket. A bunch of goons, full of lager and testosterone, smartly dressed apes, swaggered by...one of them caught my steady, steely, dead man gaze...As they rounded the corner, he jumped back round...got in my face and asked me to make him a roll-up...I smiled and say 'No, Mate'...he lingered for a few seconds, and said 'Swear to God', then rejoined his gang of pointless scum...I was itching to use the screwdriver...Its something I think about regularly these days. And I must buy some screws and then unscrew something in my room, so if I am forced to screwdriver an assailant, I can tell the police that I had the tool for legitimate purposes, NOT because I wanted to screwdriver someone in the neck, just to see if I could get away with it, how it would feel??? Surely they would die??? But if I was attacked, randomly, beaten to a pulp, and I screwdrivered the bastard in the neck, or through the eye, would I then go to jail???...Anyway, I was so stoned last night soon after getting home from the airport, that I could barely think, let alone feel, but this morning, when I was buying tobacco at the supermarket, a song came on the store stereo, I cant recall its name, but it was an emotional sound. my eyes suddenly started to fill with water. I had to tense all of the muscles in the top half of my ghostly pale face to force my tear ducts to HALT their advance towards a very public show of staggering emotion...and take a breath or two to compose myself before answering the Kiosk Attendant's offer of assistance.
I see her here. Or rather I see the hole she has left here. Its visible to the eyes in her belongings. In the dog. In the yoghurt carton in the fridge, the biscuit wrappers discarded by the side of the bed. In the carpet where she lay two nights ago, dressed in nothing other than stockings, skirt and a deviant smile...In everything she was a part of...I say 'was'. So I recognize that is the Past, so why must I endure this pain in the Now. Am I holding onto the profound melancholy because it is all I have left of her, all I have to make me feel close to her? And now...is any contact going to serve only, if anything, to prolong this torture???
I don't want to burn her stuff, or give it all to charity. But I must, or like a twisted old heartbroken fool, I will likely leave it all where it sits...which isn't going to be conducive to an improved state of mental or emotional well being.
My appetite has faded very abruptly. I want to move around as little as possible. Passing the time in the least constructive of manners, achieving nothing, nor wanting to achieve anything...A lethargic slug like state of soul and psyche. The heart plodding along with boulders on its shoulders...No help available.
Oscar is restless. He knows something is wrong. Not just through my own saddened, lifeless, demeanour...but also, because he is missing the warmth she gave him, the constant affection and attention.
I feel like a child who has been been told in one devastating minute that the easter bunny, santa claus, fairies, elves, pixies, angels, and true love, all don't exist. That they are simply myths created for children, to shield them from the truth of the world...Which is bereft of any realizations of true fantasy, and brimming, more often than not, with suffering and loss.
Every time I hear boots walking down the street outside my bedroom window, I think its her. As does Oscar. We can both see in each other's eyes, the hurt, the gaping back hole of loneliness. Perhaps its worse in my eyes, more profound, and if so, I don't want to let him see it. I will be sending him invisible tears...
I am still putting my toothbrush next to hers, out of instinct, habit...as whenever I go to brush my teeth, I see them there, together, married.
I wont show her these words.
I must stop giving.
Its the first step to recovery...if that is what I want.
I can see everything but the girl. Who is right now, as I write, retreating at an astonishing 400 miles per hour, away from the epicentre of my existence. For how long, I cannot say. Though the suggestion is apparent, of permanence. A True End to something of whose very nature, I remain unknowing. Merely suspicious...Time may tell, or Time may tell nothing. It is a great healer, but not always an eye opener to Truth that is sought, for peace of mind, or worse, to relive and continue the pain...This pain. A morbid darkness which drifted into the skies of my emotive innards, unseen by the guards...They were stoned, or drunk. Whatever their poison, they didn't notice or could not prevent it's entrance.
Our goodbye was rushed, and typically potent. 5 minutes previously we had been laughing together, whilst playing Crosswords in a puzzle book she had bought to help kill the boredom of flying long distance. The happy couple. Loving. Kissing over the middle of the table in Mcdonalds. We were warm. Until she suddenly started to panic about missing her flight, and decided she wanted to go through to the departure lounge. She had an hour and a half to spare, which I told her, but I guessed she was trying to deal with the emotions which were suddenly flaring up inside her. I took her to the departure gate, held her in my arms. We kissed...for a minute or more...passionately, sensually...tears streaming down first her cheeks, then mine...harder to look each other in the eye...as it intensified the mutual pain...I told her I still loved her, wished her a safe trip. She said she was sorry...that she loved me. and then turned and walked away, without looking back. I know she didn't look back because I turned to watch her leave. I watched her until her orange cloak and jet black hair had left my field of vision completely...More crying. But I held myself together pretty well after that...At southern cross railway station, I smoked a rollie with a cardboard roach, my hood hanging over my face, a forlorn, lonely figure...I held a screwdriver in my left hand, which was concealed in my coat pocket. A bunch of goons, full of lager and testosterone, smartly dressed apes, swaggered by...one of them caught my steady, steely, dead man gaze...As they rounded the corner, he jumped back round...got in my face and asked me to make him a roll-up...I smiled and say 'No, Mate'...he lingered for a few seconds, and said 'Swear to God', then rejoined his gang of pointless scum...I was itching to use the screwdriver...Its something I think about regularly these days. And I must buy some screws and then unscrew something in my room, so if I am forced to screwdriver an assailant, I can tell the police that I had the tool for legitimate purposes, NOT because I wanted to screwdriver someone in the neck, just to see if I could get away with it, how it would feel??? Surely they would die??? But if I was attacked, randomly, beaten to a pulp, and I screwdrivered the bastard in the neck, or through the eye, would I then go to jail???...Anyway, I was so stoned last night soon after getting home from the airport, that I could barely think, let alone feel, but this morning, when I was buying tobacco at the supermarket, a song came on the store stereo, I cant recall its name, but it was an emotional sound. my eyes suddenly started to fill with water. I had to tense all of the muscles in the top half of my ghostly pale face to force my tear ducts to HALT their advance towards a very public show of staggering emotion...and take a breath or two to compose myself before answering the Kiosk Attendant's offer of assistance.
I see her here. Or rather I see the hole she has left here. Its visible to the eyes in her belongings. In the dog. In the yoghurt carton in the fridge, the biscuit wrappers discarded by the side of the bed. In the carpet where she lay two nights ago, dressed in nothing other than stockings, skirt and a deviant smile...In everything she was a part of...I say 'was'. So I recognize that is the Past, so why must I endure this pain in the Now. Am I holding onto the profound melancholy because it is all I have left of her, all I have to make me feel close to her? And now...is any contact going to serve only, if anything, to prolong this torture???
I don't want to burn her stuff, or give it all to charity. But I must, or like a twisted old heartbroken fool, I will likely leave it all where it sits...which isn't going to be conducive to an improved state of mental or emotional well being.
My appetite has faded very abruptly. I want to move around as little as possible. Passing the time in the least constructive of manners, achieving nothing, nor wanting to achieve anything...A lethargic slug like state of soul and psyche. The heart plodding along with boulders on its shoulders...No help available.
Oscar is restless. He knows something is wrong. Not just through my own saddened, lifeless, demeanour...but also, because he is missing the warmth she gave him, the constant affection and attention.
I feel like a child who has been been told in one devastating minute that the easter bunny, santa claus, fairies, elves, pixies, angels, and true love, all don't exist. That they are simply myths created for children, to shield them from the truth of the world...Which is bereft of any realizations of true fantasy, and brimming, more often than not, with suffering and loss.
Every time I hear boots walking down the street outside my bedroom window, I think its her. As does Oscar. We can both see in each other's eyes, the hurt, the gaping back hole of loneliness. Perhaps its worse in my eyes, more profound, and if so, I don't want to let him see it. I will be sending him invisible tears...
I am still putting my toothbrush next to hers, out of instinct, habit...as whenever I go to brush my teeth, I see them there, together, married.
I wont show her these words.
I must stop giving.
Its the first step to recovery...if that is what I want.
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..***..
