love will make it up for all the rest. for our failures, our delusions, our solitude, our bitterness, our grudges, our inabilities. love is what’s going to fill the void, the knight that carries our redemption. love is an undeserved trophy, a self-built house of cards whose shakiness we keep ignoring. it’s the religion we turn to when there’s nothing else to hang on to. an excuse to feel sad. love is what we want. what allows us to walk in the rain and feel reassured or sit in a dark corner, head between hands, in company of our pathetic self.
I’d just left his house and he told me ‘I’ll see you after the week end, I’m going to London’. If he’d stabbed me right in the chest it would have hurt the same. you don’t need to go out for the week end with your fucking friends if you’re in love. you have me. I have you. we have each other. we belong to each other. you can’t make this decisions for yourself, you owe me an explanation, we owe each other. always. I own you.
It looked easier on the paper. I slammed the door and walked away but I kept checking my phone, convinced he was about to call or text me. he’s going to cancel his week-end of course, he’s not gonna fuck this up, he doesn’t wanna lose me. but no, the phone doesn’t ring, nor do I receive a text message.
love is somebody else’s skin in your bed, an arrow tattooed on your groin, a borrowed hooded jacket that you’re not going to give back, a shared cigarette, a drive home on a cab at 4 in the morning holding hands.
now, this is just wishful thinking really.
after three days, I haven’t heard from him and I figured, well, he’s trying to teach me a lesson, we need time apart, he’s right, I’m too exclusive. I should probably enjoy myself too, go out with friends, have a drink, maybe even get laid.
but no, I’m not interested in doing anything, let alone seeing anyone. I can just think of me, it’s enough really, I’m happy that way, just waiting like a stupid sod on the couch.
It’s monday, I think he’s back from London, he definitely is, yes, he’s return flight was last night and it’s 5 pm now, he must be getting off work, he’ll call soon.
yes, he’ll call soon. yes….
or maybe not.
It’s saturday, he never called, but fuck him, he’s the one missing out, by thursday he will be erased from my mind. he just wasn’t the one, he’s too cold and also very damaged, he’s got psychological problems, he’s been through a lot, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.
he’ll call me, eventually. I know that.
but It’ll be too late.