Priyanca, sorry, but you're not allowed to read this one.
all the heartbreak and mournsome poems i have ever written are jangling together in my head. their real and imagined subjects are whizzing past my window of consciousness, and i feel cheated and tired of them all. the one question keeps tearing at me... why why why why why why why not me? it's a fair one! when did i join the ranks of the un-special?
oh dear. i want that heady feeling of a july night, when unexpected, a friendly stranger's touch makes you wake up to something inside you that you'd forgotten about a little bit, when you unconsciously slide together towards the corner of the dinner table from perpendicular directions, to be closer to each other. when you giggle in wonder and the ludicrousness of finding yourself at 6 AM holding hands and stopping traffic at Big Ben, and with no thought of tomorrow, or Monday or thereafter. i don't think you can find that feeling by looking for it, or by trying to match situations and characters to recreate it.
forgive me, gentle reader, i've been watching french cinema. 'Bienvenue chez les Ch'tis' is a beautifully funny film, but is ultimately about love. 'love' is a subject i am feeling rather sore about these days, so having it all come to that in the end makes me bitter. i've been making trips to party venues in painful high heels again, trying to feel hopeful. but age or something has caught up, and the hope runs out within 10 minutes of arrival, and i then leave. i've been writing nonsensical words in nonsensical media to nonexistent recepients, in the hope of salvation.
ENOUGH! i go on a diet tomorrow. South Beach Diet. No more carbohydrates or chocolate or sugar. only proteins and fats and the other stuff. i must pay a visit to sainsbury or tesco early tomorrow to find carb-less snacks, and then carbless dinner materials, such as tuna steaks and haloumi. lunch i can manage with all sorts of salads. oh.. but the South Beach Diet requires you to give up alcohol.. well.. it ain't gonna be a perfect diet, i never said.
- - - - - - - - - -
'It meant a lot to me; I really like you...' he said, looking down at her. She looked into his cool blue eyes and believed him. Cynicism was as yet unborn that morning. 'Oh my God, what's the time?' she exclaimed, staring up almost at the sky, as she was just under Big Ben. He took advantage of her upturned face and resumed possession of her lips, and they swayed on the spot while the lights changed and traffic honked. 'I hate it when people do this in the middle of the road!', she said, emerging for breath. 'That's OK.. they'll understand it's a special occasion...' he said before he led her away, one hand in the small of her back.
- - - - - - - - - -
i hope that at least i end up bitter like chocolate.
oh dear. i want that heady feeling of a july night, when unexpected, a friendly stranger's touch makes you wake up to something inside you that you'd forgotten about a little bit, when you unconsciously slide together towards the corner of the dinner table from perpendicular directions, to be closer to each other. when you giggle in wonder and the ludicrousness of finding yourself at 6 AM holding hands and stopping traffic at Big Ben, and with no thought of tomorrow, or Monday or thereafter. i don't think you can find that feeling by looking for it, or by trying to match situations and characters to recreate it.
forgive me, gentle reader, i've been watching french cinema. 'Bienvenue chez les Ch'tis' is a beautifully funny film, but is ultimately about love. 'love' is a subject i am feeling rather sore about these days, so having it all come to that in the end makes me bitter. i've been making trips to party venues in painful high heels again, trying to feel hopeful. but age or something has caught up, and the hope runs out within 10 minutes of arrival, and i then leave. i've been writing nonsensical words in nonsensical media to nonexistent recepients, in the hope of salvation.
ENOUGH! i go on a diet tomorrow. South Beach Diet. No more carbohydrates or chocolate or sugar. only proteins and fats and the other stuff. i must pay a visit to sainsbury or tesco early tomorrow to find carb-less snacks, and then carbless dinner materials, such as tuna steaks and haloumi. lunch i can manage with all sorts of salads. oh.. but the South Beach Diet requires you to give up alcohol.. well.. it ain't gonna be a perfect diet, i never said.
- - - - - - - - - -
'It meant a lot to me; I really like you...' he said, looking down at her. She looked into his cool blue eyes and believed him. Cynicism was as yet unborn that morning. 'Oh my God, what's the time?' she exclaimed, staring up almost at the sky, as she was just under Big Ben. He took advantage of her upturned face and resumed possession of her lips, and they swayed on the spot while the lights changed and traffic honked. 'I hate it when people do this in the middle of the road!', she said, emerging for breath. 'That's OK.. they'll understand it's a special occasion...' he said before he led her away, one hand in the small of her back.
- - - - - - - - - -
i hope that at least i end up bitter like chocolate.