Sitting there with you was a little like dying.
I realise that now.
I’d waited two whole weeks for that moment
and then it didn’t live up to what I’d expected.
Oh God, no.
As people chatted loudly around us,
competing with MTV and the usual Friday night high-jinks,
I was laughing too hard, hanging onto your every word,
trying desperately to feel some substance
that might resonate within me.
And bring me back to life.
We were both to blame.
I decided you should carry the brunt
of my pent-up passion
and unspent youthfulness
you realised you had noone else to project your fears onto:
Frustrations and sadnesses that your tiny world could no longer contain.
We were like two searchlights, gone off course.
Trying to look for the same thing.
Dishonesty, especially with oneself, is a powerful thing.