July 9th, 2007
She shouted at me, yelled profanities, and cried a great deal. Heartless, masogynistic, those were two of the politer words that she used. But I don't blame her, rather think that I probably deserved everything that she threw at me.
Yet somehow I felt nothing when my vapid girlfriend flung herself onto the floor, weeping copious amounts of melodrama at that man who had so used her affections for his own experimentation, and then cast her aside as the experiment failed. I watched her antics, and I apologised for my behaviour, yeeet felt detached from the scene, as if I were watching the breaking of another couple, the heartbreak of someone foreign to me.
I sound like a monster, and perhaps I am, but I maintain that I am merely a monster of society, and that this scene, this chain of events was caused not by some inner horror, some inner sadism and psychopathy, rather it was the inevitable, driven into me by the hoards of rules oppressing my life.
She kept asking me why, but the more I tried to explain, the angrier she became, eventually attempting to throw objects at me: books which she had never read and fashion magazines which she had read too many times. I sat and absorbed all she had to say, trying to comfort her. Eventually, I don't know how long later, she stopped sobbing and lay motionless, head buried in the carpet. I sighed, and picked her up, and in a motion of apology, and in perhaps the most kindness which I would ever show her, I carried her to her bed and tucked her in, where she lay without acknowledging me at all.
So I left my girlfriend forever, and left the normality of her little house. A final presumptuous action on my part was to use her phone to send a message to her best friend to beg her to come round. I may be heartless, I may have done wrong by the whole of the female population, but still I didn't want her to be alone.
I walked outside, and it was raining. I walked home in the rain, staring into the open windows of the houses I passed, trying to catch glimpses of what they hid - idyllic tableaus, or the torrid shambles of the unhappy.
My head was itself in turmoil. I couldn't come to any conclusions. I didn't know what to do, my task for the day done in all its gory misery.
So I kept walking, and subconsciously walked myself to a street where, some years ago I went to a party.
It wasn't an extraordinary affair. Before Alex had moved into my house, he lived in a delapedated share house, with 3 other students and a considerable amount of mess. He had a party one night, so as the dutiful best friend, I toddled along, expecting only the usual drunken blur of faces, food and music, expecting to wake up sore, yet none the different from another night of revelling.
I walked further along the street, and came to the house which used to have a sofa on the verandah, and Alex's motorcycle in the driveway. It was more reputable now, the sofa had gone and was replaced by potted flowers, the motorcycle replaced by a slightly aged BMW.
At this party I had drunk a few drinks, and was feeling somewhat tipsy, to put it mildly. So, as is my want in times such as these I decided to write poetry, as it seemed that I had imbibed my brain into action. So I wandered onto the verandah, where with a great flourish I pulled out a pen and started scribbing in a notebook. The quality of that poetry was somewhat dubious, but that is beside the point. As I sat there scrawling, looking pensively into the distance, a girl stumbed out of the door, a bottle of red wine in one hand, the other hand holding herself upright against the wall. She was giggling a little, and I glared as she disturbed my peace. She however didn't seem to notice my daggers, and plopped herself down on the sofa next to me.
"Laura" she solemnly held her hand at me. I shook it.
"James" I noticed through a beery haze that she had a slightly lopsided smile.
"What are you doing?" She pointed vaguely at my notebook.
"I am a poet."
...and so it continued, without going into the excruciating details of drunken flirtations.
I sighed and walked past the house where it seemed my heart and been won and possibly ruined forever. The ghosts of that night followed me along the street, stumbling into the street, a kiss as she waited for the taxi, then giggling and running inside, deciding not to wait for the taxi after all...
I walked home thinking of Laura. When someone you loved so very much is taken before the relationship was able to run its full course, before you were able to get bored with each other, you can't help but wonder what may have been. You never have the opportunity to lose those feelings, and it leaves you dead for the future.
I walked home in the rain, unfeeling. Living in the past, ghosts and memories walking alongside me, being washed into the gutter as I passed.
Current Mood: sad
|Date:||July 9th, 2007 01:58 pm (UTC)|| |
Good to see you are still out and about James and to hear that you are still writing.
You should try and convince your friend Emma to write more as well - maybe co-author a novel or something.
Why thank you:)
Yes, Emma is a very lazy creature, though she did sent me a message today when she was supposed to be working, saying that she had nothing to do and was working on her book. She seems to have had a lot of new ideas, so that is good isn't it! We must urge her along some more methinks...
|Date:||July 10th, 2007 11:57 am (UTC)|| |
Emma's been writing during work hours!?
Tisk Tisk (says the man who probably did at least 60% of his first major story while sitting on a work computer....)
Terrible isn't it. It really isn't her fault though...if only work gave her something to do....
If she was such a vapid skank from the beginning, why did you go out with her for so long?
Perhaps if you read my last post you would know.