Night Reality

At night, all the thoughts come.

The day dreams end, the delusions fade to black.

All the things I should have done, could have done – opposed to what I actually did.

The faults in others, the faults in myself, the faults that can’t be controlled, the faults created.

The end, the beginning, the sloppy middles and how divisions between the three are rarely distinctive.

And damn it, I’d just like to sleep.

Please?

I’d just like to escape into the other reality known as my dreams.

 

And I’m just wasting time; I haven’t written anything besides cine-file reviews for a fortnight. I had to force myself to update my sketchbook. I haven’t even thought of a new scene in my latest novel project. Script? What scripts?

Why do I think I should fall in love when I have so much work to do? I don’t need another excuse to get nothing done.

Please, T’ank You

Would you mind, just please, moving over a wee bit?

Because my head is crowded enough as it is without you being a constant presence.

 

 

What’s it like being alone?

The feeling has been forgotten.

Wherever I go, regardless of where you are, I talk to you without meaning to.

Walking from the train to my flat, I regale you with easy-to-understand instructions.

 

A witty comment, a stupid observation, a knowing look – all directed at the You and Us in my head.

Whenever I catch myself talking to you, I stop.

I force myself to do something, anything else but hold fanciful In-Your-Dreams conversations with you.

 

I don’t even know why I like you so much. You aren’t worth it – you don’t deserve it.

But here we go, another post with the tag ‘UK’.

 

Maybe I do just enjoy the idea of you…

And is it so bad for me to be glad that you’re leaving for home this week? To welcome the thought that it really will never happen because you aren’t in the same country, much less same city.

 

 

Know/i/n/g

Really, you must know the effect you have on people.

And when I type ‘people’, I really mean women.

And when I type ‘women’,  I really mean   me.

Because you are Dream personified.

And I’ve been told that I have a special smile for when I speak about you.

But don’t worry, I never say your name or

revealing traits.

And I didn’t lie when I told you that I was happy to have known you—

knowing that you are leaving in a little more than a week,

knowing you have Grand Adventures planned for this summer.

And I didn’t want to possibly Never Speak to You Again without you knowing, me not knowing if we would ever speak again.

To know.

Knowing.

Known.

And you called me great.

A lovely person.

And ‘cute as a button. Don’t be worrying about that.’ [1]

I don’t know what your game is, your motives, what you want me to think (if anything). But I’m glad you saw me today, dressed smart for graduation.

1. Coming from the green room of the commencement speaker.

2. Standing outside laughing and talking with friends.

3. At the reception.

At the reception, at the closing of the gallery, where you stepped away from your group of friends and told me I looked nice. First mouthing the words, then louder when I approached. [2]

I had pictured this moment in my head. Of me telling you how I felt proud and happy for you, even if it sounded horrible.

And embrace.

A cold coke in my hand.

Your friends staring.

I asked you if it was worth it, if you were happy and content.

You replied that it was worth it because of the people ‘round us – a perfect escape[3].

‘Then I’ll let you go back to them,’ I say with a smile. ‘I’m saying good-bye to all of this,’ I motion to the artwork in the gallery.

You ‘let me do what I have to do’, I step away, not knowing what to say.

Good-bye?

Later?

Will I ever see you again?[4]

‘I’ll see you later,’ you make the decision for me. I smile and agree, though really I’m calculating the probability of your statement and decide that you are just being polite.

‘I’ll see you later,’ you wink.

Wink.

Wink.

People still do that in an unironic fashion?

Apparently they do because you just winked at me.

Which makes me think you know exactly what you cause people.

What you cause women.

What you cause me.

To smile and blush and walk away feeling light and perfect and, dare I say, ‘cute as a button’?[5]


[1] Sorry/Not sorry for using direct quotations here. I know I should keep this more private, but honestly, I’m sort of  really happy/proud you told that to me.

[2] I didn’t want to intrude myself in your group – it’s your day, you graduated. Who would I have been to come bumbling and breaking apart your camaraderie?

[3] Really, I didn’t want to take you away much longer from your friends.

[4] And if I don’t, I can accept that. Because I am glad to have known you, and to have thought about you and to have dreamt about you. Despite your flaws, despite how brief, I’m glad to have known you.

[5] Ugh, only you could make me want to write like a love-sick fool. But I secretly enjoy it.