20:13 20-04-09 –-----------------------------
‘Have a nice night, you liar, you fucking hypocrite!’
it hissed as it left the bar. I didn’t really care for people like him.
just enough time to think this before a man in a tight t-shirt just sat down and tried to show me with his eyes that he loved me for being so honest so fast and so late. i was going to explain to him that it wasn’t a performance, but a year ago it would have been, so i just let it go.
Confident/Loud/Forceful: the performance that was old. I recognized this in him.
The cracks seemed obvious, and the bulimic talking just Greys my heart/Blued my hands and/Red my face.
Breathe. Bite nails. Breathe. Pumping chest.
20:32 20-04-09 –-----------------------------
It shouldn’t have but it did. The Loud false confidence and one-upmanship was suppressing my natural state. Overbearing loudness hid any subtlety of kindness I wanted to find in his eyes. Isnt’ that the way?
Today it was a Monday.
I saw myself as more of a sincere well placed water colour, transparent and not as rapey. I started to remember that he left, so I began to tap tap tap tappy out a text. Click. Im already beginning to try and appease his black and heavy weight. But the words felt damp and impotent. I kept tapping away, trying not to get wet.
00:46 20-04-09 –-----------------------------
I stopped playing. Why does his angry heart define mine. Why couldn’t the harsh and the thoughtful exist in the same vein without the chance of heart disease.
So I sit in the white room silently thinking of the people around us. Who will want the obvious and who will want to look at him first before me. After 20 minutes they would always end up with free wine and wanting me more. So here is my warning, which is also my bragging promise
“the truth is: though you see the difference and the friction. We are silently making peace”
02:15 21-04-09 –-----------------------------
the night bus home is alwaysthe wrost part. I set down may phone and I smell of sweatandbeer. The light is bleak and I want to be somewhere else and I realize. He might think he’s won. I smile. Breathe. But from where I stand I can muse in comfort on the lovely dead of yesterday, today and tomorrow.
