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Another all nighter, pulling time at the desk as he tries to fend off demons snapping at his face.
Today had been a showing for the greatest line of them all. It ranked up there with other lies, you know the ones:
The cheque is in the mail/it’s not you,it’s me/I just need some space/we’ll still be friends.
He tried to be strong and shrug, to accept that it feels the worst now but will fade in time. But what got him, what made him collapse were the things he had said to her.
He remembers all the times he propped her up, fed her ego to make her feel strong and noble. He remembers the words that fell from his face.
Man, if he had taped them and played them back now he’d feel so stupid.
But we always do it. We go through the usual dances and routines because we think we love that person.
He knows that in a few weeks from now, he’ll wonder what he ever saw in her.
But right now, sitting in front of this screen with his cigarettes and his drink, he feels like the abyss has him and is dragging him in.
What really gets him is that he knows how mundane this is compared to the rest of the world. People break up all the time, lives move on and people heal.
It’s happened before and it will happen again.
You know this is true but you still think “She’s the one”.
She made him feel special and strong and wanted. She told him things he liked to hear. So he fell hard and fell deep.
So when she took it away, he felt stupid and exposed. So he returns to his word processor and writes stuff and feels very important and heavy.
What a joke.
To think that, yet again, he fell for it. All it takes is the inside of a wrist, or a smile and you’re in over your head.
You say stupid things, things you would laugh at if you heard anyone else say them. But it’s different for you and her isn’t it? This is the “real deal”.
Yeah right, go tell it to Hallmark. This is the real world and life sometimes slaps you so hard in the face you don’t know what to do, so you stand there in silence, looking stupid.
Times like this you expect a soundtrack to start playing. A song that can sum up your rending heartache and tortured soul blah blah blah.
Something emotive and beautiful.
You expect that song to play and you can sit and stare out of a window, playing out your little drama in whatever role you chose in “Life”.
Well that’s not the case buddy.
That’s not going to happen.
What’s going to happen is you feel like hell. You cry, you smoke too much and you drink.
Tomorrow you wake up and you feel like you haven’t slept at all.
You’ll think of her a thousand times and find yourself reaching for the phone, just managing to catch yourself before you do something stupid.
You’ll check your phone when you get in, just in case she phoned but didn’t want to leave a message and you’ll spend the night sitting listening to music and feeling low.
This will continue for a week or two.
But in this time, you’ll find yourself starting to think less of how much pain you are in and instead, you’ll think about how much time you have to do the things she always thought were trite.
Phone your mates, play video games, spend the evening with friends and not feel guilty for looking at other women and wondering what they’d be like.
And that’s the trap.
Because before you know it, you’ll have forgotten about this one. You’ll not remember the crushing feeling when you spoke to her on the phone, gave it your all, all your best lines and it didn’t work.
And you’ll see someone new. And it will be all the new things you loved about the last time.
It will be exciting and fresh, things to discover about each other and little jokes and stories to share.
And you’ll think “This is better than the last one, she was wrong for me” and you’ll think this time you got it right.
You’ll be thrilled once again by the accidental touch across a table in a restaurant. All of those things will be like a new morning after a long, nasty dream.
And then, eventually, you’ll find it’s settled into the same pattern as always.
But don’t worry, because when that goes wrong, you’ll grab those smokes and be right back where you always end up.
In front of the screen, typing in some attempt to get things straight in your head. Because something about type gives weight and importance to the most trivial of matters.
You got dumped?
It looks like it matters here as you write it, but you’ll get over it. You’ll realise that it’s happened before and you thought it was the end of the world that time too.
Like you’ll ever get suckered again by the soft voice and the gentle smile.
“Be yourself” she said. So you did, except what she meant was “Be who I think you are”.
Accept the compromise or be yourself and laugh as she walks out that door.
It’s sadness. Not because your beautiful angel has left you, but sadness because you wasted a couple of years dancing the same old number.
But that’s what life’s about, pretending you’re so different and so unique, when all around you this happens to thousands of people and they carry on.
As will you.
It just feels like you won’t right now.
So you arrive at the end of this little stint at the word processor and you feel better for telling yourself you’ll get over it.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to pretend I believe that and go feel important and heavy over there.
Today had been a showing for the greatest line of them all. It ranked up there with other lies, you know the ones:
The cheque is in the mail/it’s not you,it’s me/I just need some space/we’ll still be friends.
He tried to be strong and shrug, to accept that it feels the worst now but will fade in time. But what got him, what made him collapse were the things he had said to her.
He remembers all the times he propped her up, fed her ego to make her feel strong and noble. He remembers the words that fell from his face.
Man, if he had taped them and played them back now he’d feel so stupid.
But we always do it. We go through the usual dances and routines because we think we love that person.
He knows that in a few weeks from now, he’ll wonder what he ever saw in her.
But right now, sitting in front of this screen with his cigarettes and his drink, he feels like the abyss has him and is dragging him in.
What really gets him is that he knows how mundane this is compared to the rest of the world. People break up all the time, lives move on and people heal.
It’s happened before and it will happen again.
You know this is true but you still think “She’s the one”.
She made him feel special and strong and wanted. She told him things he liked to hear. So he fell hard and fell deep.
So when she took it away, he felt stupid and exposed. So he returns to his word processor and writes stuff and feels very important and heavy.
What a joke.
To think that, yet again, he fell for it. All it takes is the inside of a wrist, or a smile and you’re in over your head.
You say stupid things, things you would laugh at if you heard anyone else say them. But it’s different for you and her isn’t it? This is the “real deal”.
Yeah right, go tell it to Hallmark. This is the real world and life sometimes slaps you so hard in the face you don’t know what to do, so you stand there in silence, looking stupid.
Times like this you expect a soundtrack to start playing. A song that can sum up your rending heartache and tortured soul blah blah blah.
Something emotive and beautiful.
You expect that song to play and you can sit and stare out of a window, playing out your little drama in whatever role you chose in “Life”.
Well that’s not the case buddy.
That’s not going to happen.
What’s going to happen is you feel like hell. You cry, you smoke too much and you drink.
Tomorrow you wake up and you feel like you haven’t slept at all.
You’ll think of her a thousand times and find yourself reaching for the phone, just managing to catch yourself before you do something stupid.
You’ll check your phone when you get in, just in case she phoned but didn’t want to leave a message and you’ll spend the night sitting listening to music and feeling low.
This will continue for a week or two.
But in this time, you’ll find yourself starting to think less of how much pain you are in and instead, you’ll think about how much time you have to do the things she always thought were trite.
Phone your mates, play video games, spend the evening with friends and not feel guilty for looking at other women and wondering what they’d be like.
And that’s the trap.
Because before you know it, you’ll have forgotten about this one. You’ll not remember the crushing feeling when you spoke to her on the phone, gave it your all, all your best lines and it didn’t work.
And you’ll see someone new. And it will be all the new things you loved about the last time.
It will be exciting and fresh, things to discover about each other and little jokes and stories to share.
And you’ll think “This is better than the last one, she was wrong for me” and you’ll think this time you got it right.
You’ll be thrilled once again by the accidental touch across a table in a restaurant. All of those things will be like a new morning after a long, nasty dream.
And then, eventually, you’ll find it’s settled into the same pattern as always.
But don’t worry, because when that goes wrong, you’ll grab those smokes and be right back where you always end up.
In front of the screen, typing in some attempt to get things straight in your head. Because something about type gives weight and importance to the most trivial of matters.
You got dumped?
It looks like it matters here as you write it, but you’ll get over it. You’ll realise that it’s happened before and you thought it was the end of the world that time too.
Like you’ll ever get suckered again by the soft voice and the gentle smile.
“Be yourself” she said. So you did, except what she meant was “Be who I think you are”.
Accept the compromise or be yourself and laugh as she walks out that door.
It’s sadness. Not because your beautiful angel has left you, but sadness because you wasted a couple of years dancing the same old number.
But that’s what life’s about, pretending you’re so different and so unique, when all around you this happens to thousands of people and they carry on.
As will you.
It just feels like you won’t right now.
So you arrive at the end of this little stint at the word processor and you feel better for telling yourself you’ll get over it.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to pretend I believe that and go feel important and heavy over there.
Film and T.V has taught me that stuff like this doesn't happen. I don't seem to realise that it does to people, yet I do. Because I can relate to it.
Let's have a little theory session, and let's all try and follow.
What if there was no chase? No quick glance across the table, a cute smile before returning to food? What if there wasn't the urge, the urge for love, the urge for desire? Just because you have it, doesn't mean it's the same for us all.
And what, just perhaps, if you didn't even need to try? What if everything you did, was just be yourself? And what if everything you wanted was nothing, because in the end, the pure light that shone was a reason for you to sit up, and stop running to those escapes that you fed off, and you knew, hell, you knew they were escapes, but you always had your life, and you would speak that loud to anyone, not just those you wanted to impress. Could it be you weren't hiding, but being found?
What if that person didn't find words because they were a 'good writer', but those words were placed by the true feelings that emerged?
And what if that person has never, once, tried to impress anyone? Just be themselves and speak their minds? Could you ever believe that person could be loved? Be allowed to live as themselves?
Because, if by some small chance, that person wasn't restricted, but opened... if that person wasn't judged, but known... would that person ever WORRY about what to buy her? Would that person ever WORRY about what she was thinking about what he had said? But I mean, what are the chances.
And then, what are the chances of being so deep, that's it's too difficult? What if perhaps we needed to learn more, and as hard as it was, two people couldn't settle down not because they didn't love each other, but because they hadn't been apart for long enough? A passage of time doesn't mean we all share the same experiences. For I for one, have learned not to judge on how little I know.
Because sometimes, we jump to conclusions on simple words, before we read the whole sentence and find out that there was a question mark after all.
The moral? Be yourself, talk as yourself, and stop judging others on what you don't really need. To be angry for not being lucky, isn't something I think I can feel sorry for. But don't be afraid to acknowledge who you are, because if it really was that bad, you should have learnt it by now. Don't give up hope on yourself.
Good read, Goatboy.
What if there was no chase? No quick glance across the table, a cute smile before returning to food? What if there wasn't the urge, the urge for love, the urge for desire? Just because you have it, doesn't mean it's the same for us all.
And what, just perhaps, if you didn't even need to try? What if everything you did, was just be yourself? And what if everything you wanted was nothing, because in the end, the pure light that shone was a reason for you to sit up, and stop running to those escapes that you fed off, and you knew, hell, you knew they were escapes, but you always had your life, and you would speak that loud to anyone, not just those you wanted to impress. Could it be you weren't hiding, but being found?
What if that person didn't find words because they were a 'good writer', but those words were placed by the true feelings that emerged?
And what if that person has never, once, tried to impress anyone? Just be themselves and speak their minds? Could you ever believe that person could be loved? Be allowed to live as themselves?
Because, if by some small chance, that person wasn't restricted, but opened... if that person wasn't judged, but known... would that person ever WORRY about what to buy her? Would that person ever WORRY about what she was thinking about what he had said? But I mean, what are the chances.
And then, what are the chances of being so deep, that's it's too difficult? What if perhaps we needed to learn more, and as hard as it was, two people couldn't settle down not because they didn't love each other, but because they hadn't been apart for long enough? A passage of time doesn't mean we all share the same experiences. For I for one, have learned not to judge on how little I know.
Because sometimes, we jump to conclusions on simple words, before we read the whole sentence and find out that there was a question mark after all.
The moral? Be yourself, talk as yourself, and stop judging others on what you don't really need. To be angry for not being lucky, isn't something I think I can feel sorry for. But don't be afraid to acknowledge who you are, because if it really was that bad, you should have learnt it by now. Don't give up hope on yourself.
Good read, Goatboy.
Something you wrote made me think of this... I wrote it about someone who I'd "fallen in love with" a long while ago. I didn't send it to her because it was too cruel, too near to home and I'm not really like that. But it was cathartic in some ways...
And I've danced to the same tune for too long. Always trying to s**top myself from treading on your toes, moving my feet in time with yours. You took the lead and I followed. Except we weren't dancing to a waltz or any such thing, perhaps a funeral march or requiem. Blindly two-s**tepping into the abyss, I followed.
Well not today because the sun is going down and in this new light you don't seem as brilliant, as incandescent as you once did. You don't even seem to be the same person. But if I squint I can tell myself that the blur is the same girl that lives in my head, who smiles radiance and warmth. But even the blur has teeth that gnaw at my dreams and scar me. And the requiem s**till plays in the background and I keep dancing as the thousand demons swirl and chant in my mind.
Too long. Too deluded. I have danced with you. Pretending that you were something beautiful, different from the res**t, recreating you as someone to aspire to when you didn't care. And you were selfish. But I closed my eyes. And you were mean but I closed my ears. And you lied but I shut my mouth. And even the acrid smell of decay would not s**top me from dancing on, wherever it came from, my heart or yours?
But then you s**topped talking because of something I said or did or failed to do or nothing at all and turned it into something so horrendous that you couldn't even bare my words. Still I tried to dance but what is the point? I'm pulling out. Retiring. I've s**topped and I've pulled the cables out at the wall and the music has s**topped. And you don't seem so beautiful anymore. Perhaps you were always made of ice or perhaps you jus**t want to be. And perhaps you don't see what a selfish, spoilt child you are. Dancing for Daddy. Dancing for Mommy. Yet you maintain this delusion that somehow you unders**tand me, that you can read my character and that you are so much better than me. And what you fail to see is that I have tried with every atom of my being to accommodate your whims and your tantrums and s**till your only response is to spit in my face.
You picture me sitting pining for you always and forever and plan to wrap me further around your finger in case you need a quick lift, a self-es**teem boos**t in a time of crisis. And you think that you know what love is, because you've read about it, and you think that you are so very much in control and ever so everything everyone wants to be because your pretty veneer tells us so. Underneath you're all fake arms and hearts like the res**t of us but thank God for the skin that lies to hide it. Underneath you are ugly. A child crying out for attention. Dancing for Daddy. Dancing for Mommy. But you've spilt your milk and your nappy's wet and cry like a baby because your life's so sh*t. And in your mind you're an angel abused, a goddess on her knees, a girlfriend rejected and why?
Blame him, I always did because that was what you taught me to do. To reinforce your opinion and tell you that you were right and he was wrong when really he was probably jus**t the same as me. Trying to keep in s**tep to your funeral march and not treading on your toes in case the screaming s**tarts. And make him cry because it's ever so cathartic. Dancing for Daddy. Dancing for Mommy. But they're not watching and that's what hurts. Make him watch but it won't be the same. Crying out for a second's attention so you can be the prom queen all fakes smiles and eyes that I don't ever want to see because they'd shed fake tears and lie lie lie. And you'd make sure that the angel in my head would die.
I don't need this anymore because the music's s**topped and I can't keep pace with your fickle mind and pretentious grace. And I am growing to hate you for all the lies you've put me through. And don't say that I didn't try. Because that's all I've done but you think you know me, you think I'm wrong and you'll hate these words, so hate along.
Because I don't care anymore. Isn't that what you wanted? because your wish is my command. Hate me truly madly deeply because I am not wrong and that is the only way you'll convince yourself, or show this to a "friend" so they can call me a liar. But everyone works it out eventually. and it took me far too long.
The sight is sickening and the noise is hell, but my mouth isn't gagged by hope I was wrong about you. And the smell. The smell is putrefying like your heart. Dance for Daddy. Dance. Because no-one else will pity a washed-up drama queen.
And I've danced to the same tune for too long. Always trying to s**top myself from treading on your toes, moving my feet in time with yours. You took the lead and I followed. Except we weren't dancing to a waltz or any such thing, perhaps a funeral march or requiem. Blindly two-s**tepping into the abyss, I followed.
Well not today because the sun is going down and in this new light you don't seem as brilliant, as incandescent as you once did. You don't even seem to be the same person. But if I squint I can tell myself that the blur is the same girl that lives in my head, who smiles radiance and warmth. But even the blur has teeth that gnaw at my dreams and scar me. And the requiem s**till plays in the background and I keep dancing as the thousand demons swirl and chant in my mind.
Too long. Too deluded. I have danced with you. Pretending that you were something beautiful, different from the res**t, recreating you as someone to aspire to when you didn't care. And you were selfish. But I closed my eyes. And you were mean but I closed my ears. And you lied but I shut my mouth. And even the acrid smell of decay would not s**top me from dancing on, wherever it came from, my heart or yours?
But then you s**topped talking because of something I said or did or failed to do or nothing at all and turned it into something so horrendous that you couldn't even bare my words. Still I tried to dance but what is the point? I'm pulling out. Retiring. I've s**topped and I've pulled the cables out at the wall and the music has s**topped. And you don't seem so beautiful anymore. Perhaps you were always made of ice or perhaps you jus**t want to be. And perhaps you don't see what a selfish, spoilt child you are. Dancing for Daddy. Dancing for Mommy. Yet you maintain this delusion that somehow you unders**tand me, that you can read my character and that you are so much better than me. And what you fail to see is that I have tried with every atom of my being to accommodate your whims and your tantrums and s**till your only response is to spit in my face.
You picture me sitting pining for you always and forever and plan to wrap me further around your finger in case you need a quick lift, a self-es**teem boos**t in a time of crisis. And you think that you know what love is, because you've read about it, and you think that you are so very much in control and ever so everything everyone wants to be because your pretty veneer tells us so. Underneath you're all fake arms and hearts like the res**t of us but thank God for the skin that lies to hide it. Underneath you are ugly. A child crying out for attention. Dancing for Daddy. Dancing for Mommy. But you've spilt your milk and your nappy's wet and cry like a baby because your life's so sh*t. And in your mind you're an angel abused, a goddess on her knees, a girlfriend rejected and why?
Blame him, I always did because that was what you taught me to do. To reinforce your opinion and tell you that you were right and he was wrong when really he was probably jus**t the same as me. Trying to keep in s**tep to your funeral march and not treading on your toes in case the screaming s**tarts. And make him cry because it's ever so cathartic. Dancing for Daddy. Dancing for Mommy. But they're not watching and that's what hurts. Make him watch but it won't be the same. Crying out for a second's attention so you can be the prom queen all fakes smiles and eyes that I don't ever want to see because they'd shed fake tears and lie lie lie. And you'd make sure that the angel in my head would die.
I don't need this anymore because the music's s**topped and I can't keep pace with your fickle mind and pretentious grace. And I am growing to hate you for all the lies you've put me through. And don't say that I didn't try. Because that's all I've done but you think you know me, you think I'm wrong and you'll hate these words, so hate along.
Because I don't care anymore. Isn't that what you wanted? because your wish is my command. Hate me truly madly deeply because I am not wrong and that is the only way you'll convince yourself, or show this to a "friend" so they can call me a liar. But everyone works it out eventually. and it took me far too long.
The sight is sickening and the noise is hell, but my mouth isn't gagged by hope I was wrong about you. And the smell. The smell is putrefying like your heart. Dance for Daddy. Dance. Because no-one else will pity a washed-up drama queen.
Goatboy wrote:
> What really gets him is that he knows how mundane this is compared to
> the rest of the world.
----
Whenever I feel down or worried etc over something, I always think how small and pathetic my problems are compared with some people in the world and it somehow helps me carry on.
Good post... out of curiousity were you dumped by your girlfriend as you've been down last few posts I've read...
Err right.
> What really gets him is that he knows how mundane this is compared to
> the rest of the world.
----
Whenever I feel down or worried etc over something, I always think how small and pathetic my problems are compared with some people in the world and it somehow helps me carry on.
Good post... out of curiousity were you dumped by your girlfriend as you've been down last few posts I've read...
Err right.
Another all nighter, pulling time at the desk as he tries to fend off demons snapping at his face.
Today had been a showing for the greatest line of them all. It ranked up there with other lies, you know the ones:
The cheque is in the mail/it’s not you,it’s me/I just need some space/we’ll still be friends.
He tried to be strong and shrug, to accept that it feels the worst now but will fade in time. But what got him, what made him collapse were the things he had said to her.
He remembers all the times he propped her up, fed her ego to make her feel strong and noble. He remembers the words that fell from his face.
Man, if he had taped them and played them back now he’d feel so stupid.
But we always do it. We go through the usual dances and routines because we think we love that person.
He knows that in a few weeks from now, he’ll wonder what he ever saw in her.
But right now, sitting in front of this screen with his cigarettes and his drink, he feels like the abyss has him and is dragging him in.
What really gets him is that he knows how mundane this is compared to the rest of the world. People break up all the time, lives move on and people heal.
It’s happened before and it will happen again.
You know this is true but you still think “She’s the one”.
She made him feel special and strong and wanted. She told him things he liked to hear. So he fell hard and fell deep.
So when she took it away, he felt stupid and exposed. So he returns to his word processor and writes stuff and feels very important and heavy.
What a joke.
To think that, yet again, he fell for it. All it takes is the inside of a wrist, or a smile and you’re in over your head.
You say stupid things, things you would laugh at if you heard anyone else say them. But it’s different for you and her isn’t it? This is the “real deal”.
Yeah right, go tell it to Hallmark. This is the real world and life sometimes slaps you so hard in the face you don’t know what to do, so you stand there in silence, looking stupid.
Times like this you expect a soundtrack to start playing. A song that can sum up your rending heartache and tortured soul blah blah blah.
Something emotive and beautiful.
You expect that song to play and you can sit and stare out of a window, playing out your little drama in whatever role you chose in “Life”.
Well that’s not the case buddy.
That’s not going to happen.
What’s going to happen is you feel like hell. You cry, you smoke too much and you drink.
Tomorrow you wake up and you feel like you haven’t slept at all.
You’ll think of her a thousand times and find yourself reaching for the phone, just managing to catch yourself before you do something stupid.
You’ll check your phone when you get in, just in case she phoned but didn’t want to leave a message and you’ll spend the night sitting listening to music and feeling low.
This will continue for a week or two.
But in this time, you’ll find yourself starting to think less of how much pain you are in and instead, you’ll think about how much time you have to do the things she always thought were trite.
Phone your mates, play video games, spend the evening with friends and not feel guilty for looking at other women and wondering what they’d be like.
And that’s the trap.
Because before you know it, you’ll have forgotten about this one. You’ll not remember the crushing feeling when you spoke to her on the phone, gave it your all, all your best lines and it didn’t work.
And you’ll see someone new. And it will be all the new things you loved about the last time.
It will be exciting and fresh, things to discover about each other and little jokes and stories to share.
And you’ll think “This is better than the last one, she was wrong for me” and you’ll think this time you got it right.
You’ll be thrilled once again by the accidental touch across a table in a restaurant. All of those things will be like a new morning after a long, nasty dream.
And then, eventually, you’ll find it’s settled into the same pattern as always.
But don’t worry, because when that goes wrong, you’ll grab those smokes and be right back where you always end up.
In front of the screen, typing in some attempt to get things straight in your head. Because something about type gives weight and importance to the most trivial of matters.
You got dumped?
It looks like it matters here as you write it, but you’ll get over it. You’ll realise that it’s happened before and you thought it was the end of the world that time too.
Like you’ll ever get suckered again by the soft voice and the gentle smile.
“Be yourself” she said. So you did, except what she meant was “Be who I think you are”.
Accept the compromise or be yourself and laugh as she walks out that door.
It’s sadness. Not because your beautiful angel has left you, but sadness because you wasted a couple of years dancing the same old number.
But that’s what life’s about, pretending you’re so different and so unique, when all around you this happens to thousands of people and they carry on.
As will you.
It just feels like you won’t right now.
So you arrive at the end of this little stint at the word processor and you feel better for telling yourself you’ll get over it.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to pretend I believe that and go feel important and heavy over there.
Today had been a showing for the greatest line of them all. It ranked up there with other lies, you know the ones:
The cheque is in the mail/it’s not you,it’s me/I just need some space/we’ll still be friends.
He tried to be strong and shrug, to accept that it feels the worst now but will fade in time. But what got him, what made him collapse were the things he had said to her.
He remembers all the times he propped her up, fed her ego to make her feel strong and noble. He remembers the words that fell from his face.
Man, if he had taped them and played them back now he’d feel so stupid.
But we always do it. We go through the usual dances and routines because we think we love that person.
He knows that in a few weeks from now, he’ll wonder what he ever saw in her.
But right now, sitting in front of this screen with his cigarettes and his drink, he feels like the abyss has him and is dragging him in.
What really gets him is that he knows how mundane this is compared to the rest of the world. People break up all the time, lives move on and people heal.
It’s happened before and it will happen again.
You know this is true but you still think “She’s the one”.
She made him feel special and strong and wanted. She told him things he liked to hear. So he fell hard and fell deep.
So when she took it away, he felt stupid and exposed. So he returns to his word processor and writes stuff and feels very important and heavy.
What a joke.
To think that, yet again, he fell for it. All it takes is the inside of a wrist, or a smile and you’re in over your head.
You say stupid things, things you would laugh at if you heard anyone else say them. But it’s different for you and her isn’t it? This is the “real deal”.
Yeah right, go tell it to Hallmark. This is the real world and life sometimes slaps you so hard in the face you don’t know what to do, so you stand there in silence, looking stupid.
Times like this you expect a soundtrack to start playing. A song that can sum up your rending heartache and tortured soul blah blah blah.
Something emotive and beautiful.
You expect that song to play and you can sit and stare out of a window, playing out your little drama in whatever role you chose in “Life”.
Well that’s not the case buddy.
That’s not going to happen.
What’s going to happen is you feel like hell. You cry, you smoke too much and you drink.
Tomorrow you wake up and you feel like you haven’t slept at all.
You’ll think of her a thousand times and find yourself reaching for the phone, just managing to catch yourself before you do something stupid.
You’ll check your phone when you get in, just in case she phoned but didn’t want to leave a message and you’ll spend the night sitting listening to music and feeling low.
This will continue for a week or two.
But in this time, you’ll find yourself starting to think less of how much pain you are in and instead, you’ll think about how much time you have to do the things she always thought were trite.
Phone your mates, play video games, spend the evening with friends and not feel guilty for looking at other women and wondering what they’d be like.
And that’s the trap.
Because before you know it, you’ll have forgotten about this one. You’ll not remember the crushing feeling when you spoke to her on the phone, gave it your all, all your best lines and it didn’t work.
And you’ll see someone new. And it will be all the new things you loved about the last time.
It will be exciting and fresh, things to discover about each other and little jokes and stories to share.
And you’ll think “This is better than the last one, she was wrong for me” and you’ll think this time you got it right.
You’ll be thrilled once again by the accidental touch across a table in a restaurant. All of those things will be like a new morning after a long, nasty dream.
And then, eventually, you’ll find it’s settled into the same pattern as always.
But don’t worry, because when that goes wrong, you’ll grab those smokes and be right back where you always end up.
In front of the screen, typing in some attempt to get things straight in your head. Because something about type gives weight and importance to the most trivial of matters.
You got dumped?
It looks like it matters here as you write it, but you’ll get over it. You’ll realise that it’s happened before and you thought it was the end of the world that time too.
Like you’ll ever get suckered again by the soft voice and the gentle smile.
“Be yourself” she said. So you did, except what she meant was “Be who I think you are”.
Accept the compromise or be yourself and laugh as she walks out that door.
It’s sadness. Not because your beautiful angel has left you, but sadness because you wasted a couple of years dancing the same old number.
But that’s what life’s about, pretending you’re so different and so unique, when all around you this happens to thousands of people and they carry on.
As will you.
It just feels like you won’t right now.
So you arrive at the end of this little stint at the word processor and you feel better for telling yourself you’ll get over it.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to pretend I believe that and go feel important and heavy over there.