Sunday, 23 February 2014

I particularly enjoy one thing. It is peculiar and very trivial. I grew very fond of walking about town in the evening, when the sun is still up but it’s well on its way down and everyone is off home to their families. Oh I know… not safe… what even in the context of safety these days anymore? I mean… I remember when I was younger, I was a kid for crying out loud, and I would just be running about up until 9 in the evening and it wasn’t anything strange, the social services weren’t involved, my mother would shout me in because she would have known I’d have been at an approachable distance. Back then I also lived in a huge city, 5 times bigger than where I exist now and where I currently live there’s subway so, by all means, big enough.


I put my headphones on. Brace my back. Look forward. Walk. Keep walking.

I like to think about all the people that influenced something inside me, made me who I am. There is this one person that isn’t quite out of my life but I don’t associate with him anymore. We had, well I guess still have, a very strange kind of relationship. We were never together. We’ve never done anything with one another.  But we so loved each other. I guess I still love him in a way - it’s strange.

Him and I… we had that love/hate thing. I think we hate each other now, not sure though, I could never be sure of him… but we aren’t speaking to each other, so I guess we hate each other now. We aren’t indifferent to one another, so it must be it.
We met in a doorway. We spoke and then we both realized that we could feel something we haven’t felt in a long time. We didn’t know what to do about what we felt because of the positions that we were in at the time. We were both committed to other people and the consequences would have been too great if we were to go with the feelings. Essentially, the satisfaction could not justify the pain we would cause, while at the same time, we would be in - we were both unsteady, uneasy and uneverything.

I wish I could at least say that he made me cry like no one else, but… he didn’t. He made me unable to cry. I always found myself sitting down; possibly on a bench somewhere in a park; possibly next to a pond; with my eyes open, blanked out; wanting to cry but being incapable of it. I’d sit there, get cold, go home, hate him a little more, so on and so forth. While at the same time he would go out, have a few and hate me a little too.


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