I’ve been in love before. I survived on Pot Noodles and scratchy Sex and the City videos, some of which wouldn’t play, when David left, and when Ben quit I dropped 2 stone. It was the simplest weight loss ever apart from, you know.
And I hope you don’t go but if you do I’ll be fine. I’ve measured the lengths for ‘getting over’, and ‘rebounds’ and ‘flings’ I’ll try and I’ll do if it means you’ll get grainy like a badly pirated copy of a cinema release or a shop copy of a book I could’ve bought new from Amazon and I’d really savour the wearing, absolute lack of wear.
Each time, I hope this love is it, and there have been about 5 true loves, 11 ‘ones’, and anyone that says they feel different to the last, they can really tell, they have certainty, knowledge, they’ve seen, I say, “Shit,” because no such thing, there’s no such thing, and I’d only ever say that in the bed of Brad Pitt, and then I’d be stop-gapping it.