How do you know when you spend time with someone if it is just raw sexual attraction, or something deeper, something personal and complete? How can you tell if it’s the real thing, or just another night unslept with someone new in your bed… If they are the person you want beside you every night, if there will be no one else after them? How do you know it’s right? You should just know right, you should just know – that’s what they say.

The attraction I feel towards you is purely sexual, I know that, but yet when you kissed me goodbye I thought you seemed genuinely a little sad to leave… you said as much but I bluffed it off, you said we’ll meet soon but I am only used to being blown off. I keep thinking ‘guys like you’ are all the same, and you assure me I have misjudged things, and I really really hope that you will prove me wrong. I contemplate this tonight, with all the hundreds of miles away you are from here, and yet how close you were to me last night.

And I have discovered a new fondness for phoneboxes… x

The light hits my face from an unflatteringly angle, and I know we shouldn’t have chosen McDonalds for a date. Your the third or fourth guy that thinks it makes you seem manly to eat a Big Mac in front of me, woofing it down like a pig.
Well the little boxes are slowly filling up around me and soon I will be miving into a new phase of my life. Somewhere new, someone new.
In the middle of the night he rings to give me an assault of compliments, slightly drunken word-vomit, the kind where you can’t stop from saying what your really thinking.

Well I sit awake at night wondering what your doing, and moving on didnt help me, and seeing you with her made it worse, and I swear if I have to keep living this routine mundane existence I might as well just give up now.

We have one of those stupid moments you see in romance films, or read about sometimes – a silent exchange of thoughts regarding each other naked, and being in the same room again. Except we are not, and in a way I wish that had never changed.

So I violently toss and turn, angry at myself and mostly angry at you, when I sit up my room reflects shadows that I know are not there. Shadows of guilt and sorrow hang here, in the balance where I can niether accept nor deny their presence, and you are always there in the background, mocking me for trying to move on with my life, mocking who I am trying to be.

It is becoming easier, most days, to not think about you. But when I remember something, or see someone that looks like you from behind, I feel instant nausea, instead fear. It comes over me and I PANIC, and try to calm myself down that it is only natural. If I was cold enough not to care about you anymore, this would be over now, but you are the elephant in the corner I cant escape from.

You need to understand that us trying to be freinds will be too difficult for me. I wanted to claw your eyes out for just looking at me, let alone when you start talking, being the smug concieted bastard that you are. I don’t see things as balck and white as you claim to, water under the bridge and all that meaningless shite. You hurt me, and it still hurts everyday, so no it’s not over, the dust has not settled here yet.

You were always good enough for me, and it was you that make me feel insecure – because your own insecurities consumed you so much. There are things you clearly never got away from, things you will have to face up to before you can ever see how much I loved you. I hate to admit how lost I’ve been without you, and truth be told, I doubt that will change now. The closer someone els tries to get to me, the further away I want to be, and the more I hate myself that it’s not you I am with.

In the nihilistic sense, we are all dying, all dead and alone eventually. Yet in the holistic sense we are together in death, we are suffering as one, united in sadness. I think about this and my drafts folder quickly fills up, it is time to put the pieces together again, connect all my lost fragments of conscience. I think about pieceing us back together and ‘i before e except after c’ doesnt seem to work right. Everytime we spell a different word.

And I am nearly setting the bed on fire with the hairdryer because I am so cold without someone to sleep beside at night. All these things run through my head at 3.21am but I have to be up for work in 4 hours and I still can’t stop thinking about you. And her. Does she make you happy? Does she make you want kids? Grow old together? Or have those fucking adult-get-together-barbeques that couples love so much? Do you want all that with her or someone that doesn’t look like a nazi lesbian? Someone that can cook for you, that loves you as much as I do, all your flaws included….

So I lie here, willing my mind to empty of thoughts but more worries just keep appearing, creeping out of the cracks in the darkness. A shard of light cuts through the blinds, like the bright light at the dentist when you cannot move, or when the doctor checks your pupil dilation and blinds you in the process.
Your in a hospital trolley wheeling down the corridor, and horizontal someone has a hand on your shoulder to stop you sitting up, all you see in the rush of florescent bulbs above. You try to count lights and lose you place, I cant remember what happened, or where am I?

This light is invasive, clinical, it knows what I am thinking deep down underneath my soul.

Last time I was this angry I nearly broke three knuckles.

My dreams twist and convolute into reality and I remember running for miles away from a gang of ravaged urban teens, as my legs start to ache from the muscle tension. I lost my shoes, two different pairs, at some crazy house party where I ended up hiding in the bathroom, with the TV blaring to cover my escape out the window. I continue to run and they are still bloody chasing me but I can’t remember what annoyed them so much. I possibly had a dispute with their older sisters, or mothers, and maybe might have said they all looked like skanks. I don’t recall exactly.

I doze, hoping my thoughts will realign as I sleep, waiting for some inspiration or motivation to make me want to move ever again. I really am this difficult to get up in the mornings. I think if I had a coffee machine in my room it would all be okay, but the probability is that I wouldn’t sleep for days on end, and then be even harder to wake once fatigue had set in. I am waiting for something but not sure what, usually a text or phone call to remind me which pointless meetings and conversations I should be having today. I wait some more.

I doze off again, writing this monologue in my head, and dream off cats, which are my favourite thing… The world must be normal again, now the cats have rescued me. I realise it’s after 2.30pm and I should eat something, because the last food that crossed my lips was a rather questionable kebab at 10.30pm last night, and then I realise my bodily functions have needs to, and get up to service them.

I still want to fix things, I still want to make things right for us. I so want to be that better person for you, but we’ve been doing it all wrong. I want to live everyday with you looking forward to the next, not dreading more arguments.

Of course, I still love you. I was just angry. Angry at myself and angry at my past mistakes holding me back. Angry that my feelings for someone else got in the way, when I know now that I love and need you more than I could love him. I want to feel your warmth next to me again…

I’m sorry for everything. For being distant, and scared, for becoming someone you couldn’t trust anymore. I’m sorry that we both pushed each other away, became too close too quickly. I’m sorry that I find it difficult to let myself love someone completely.

In short, it just went tits up.

(Message saved in Drafts, 02.31am, 25/08/10)

Sometimes I find it difficult to breathe around you, I get so flustered and tangled around my own words. I sit and wonder is he looking, can he see how insecure I’m feeling, or know the things I long for with him. I know this will only end badly. I know I’m better than this.

(Message saved in Drafts, 22.32pm, 27/08/10)

I see an elephant running over the hill, I see my skull reflected in the window by passing lights. I see us lying in bed, as if from a directors perspective, listening to that sad song for the jews. I imagine you far away from me, not necessarily from here, and realise maybe it’s meant to stay that way.

I would be scared if you were to love me back, I wouldn’t know where to start in being a part of your life.

What is love? You need me to prove it for you to know that it exists. I need to prove it to myself. I give you a list and it’s not enough. I give you my last scoop of ice cream and it’s not enough? I tell you about my scars, what makes me scared, what makes me smile, I make you laugh but you still turn away.

My brain is nearly exploding, napalm-face-palm. I can’t give you everything, because I have nothing, I can only promise I will always be grumpy in the mornings, I will always hate but love you in equal amounts, I will always want to make you proud, and bake you surprise cakes to make your day better. I promise I will do this that and the other, anything to make you shutttt uppppp already, I get the point that I made a mistake.

I never want to love again, all that time spent sighing and wooing and not finishing sentences (Q: Bernard Black if you were wondering..) turns to deep, dark despair, and resentment that your my Summer sweetheart and you can’t leave, because I wrote you another poem, and I think you’re the bee’s knees.

(Message saved in Drafts, 4.11am, 16/08/10);

I’ve got a chance to be myself now, and I will grab it with both hands.

(Message saved in Drafts, 02.56am, 14/08/10);

I’ve gone through every emotion thinking about the situation between us – love, hate, anger, betrayal… Bitterness and betterness, but still I reach no conclusion. I find no answers for the questions you ask me, I find no reason for my lies and my distant stare. There doesn’t seem to be an agony aunt way to fix this, apart from ‘going our separate ways’.

I sit awake and I wonder these things, while your quietly sleeping. Each heavy sigh you make only makes me more aware of how I am not asleep, and what is it that keeps me up in the small hours of night? I suffer these thoughts in silence, unable to translate to you, unable to decipher the code in my own brain. It is like a virus that hacks into my core processing and sucks away all my hope and optimism! Okay, maybe not quite like that…

Perhaps love is be being plain miserable when you can’t have someone, and being totally overwhelmed when you can.

I wonder if I had ever spent this long trying to fix something that shouldn’t be fixed, trying to glue together old memories and stale passion. Maybe this just isn’t meant to work out. If we feel we have both grown from this,  made some sort of lasting emotional connection and development – maybe that is just enough, for now. And next time you or I meet someone, we’ll know not to run.

I think that no one should know the strength or depth of my urges, as my burning regrets charr through my insides out. Now, I am a smoker. I smoke, my lungs expand and collapse, expand and collapse, inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale. I face the troublesome addiction that plagued and taunted me for so long, something I have loathed for twenty years of my life.

It is with bitterness and loneliness that I enjoy the taste. I let this reminder of you seep into my pores, violate my senses, choke my breath and I think of you, enjoying every single cigarette I watched you smoke. And I hate you more than anything now, because I have found a new vice.

I am so happy I am not a fucking hipster, and I don’t need a hairstyle to be cool, or for everyone to know all about my band. I am so glad that I don’t have to get drunk and sleep with underage yuppies to feel good about myself, or get off my face every night on drugs designed for horses and plants.

Watch this space. I will tell you the secret behind that ‘I look dishevelled like a homeless person, but I actually spent over an hour getting ready this morning’ look. The truth is that really all those fucking hipsters are more lonely, more insecure, more scared and more vulnerable than any of us non-hipsters. They have a status to lose, a social perch that would be so dramatic if it started to crumble before our eyes, and that my friends would be something to blog about.

I could understand your anger, part of me knew I had done wrong, yet another part ran away, and kept running… I can never escape the vanity of my former selfishness. I try to explain myself to you and it turns into a horror film, my subconscious shouting at the screen ‘Don’t run upstairs you bimbo, use the phone, grab a weapon’ but the waif keeps running, falling over, not paying attention to her escape routes.

I am trapped now. In my mind I will hide all the thoughts that could trouble you, I will sit and wait in the house 9-5 while your out at work. I plan your arrival home, it’s after 4.30pm already and I must begin dinner preparations. I have been here for days, and not left this abode.

It was not your choice but I liked the idea of it; Betty Draper sits alone in the kitchen, smoking seductively, or innocently, for a man that will never truly understand her, or love her as he loves other women.

For once I am the wife at home, and not the other women. Housework and daytime TV are my trivial entertainment now. We argue like real couples do, over why dinner wasn’t ready on time, or how you don’t understand that I get lonely here all day. Yet this little monologue is my company, this is my private space. For no one else but me.