I realised forever wasn’t real on Charlie’s bed, watching TV, at a sleepover. And I hoped it’d be the last revelation of things my parents told me that turned out not to be true. But god happened next, then Tom Cruise (not his real name).
It was an “oh right” sort of stunned second in between talking about Aaron, Jonathan, Joe. Painting wobbly nails. Comparing pyjama shades.
It passed as we watched Dirty Dancing, which taught us to trust untrustworthy men because they’re all good eventually and everything ends anyway, in splats or splits, fades slowly like a nineties song, or doesn’t wait. Velociraptors don’t wait.
And I wondered then how it’d impact me later and now I’m telling you that I still don’t believe it. I don’t know what’s left to believe. But this doesn’t feel like it’s about to. Angelina Jolie.