When there is rent to pay, distance is irrelvant, and there are bus ticket deals the further you go and if I’d had the choice to turn down 500 minimum wage shifts in shopping centres, don’t you think I would’ve? But standing orders are certainties I don’t think you’ve met yet and, if you had, there’d be a perspective shift and your desperation would be ten-fold. Because £3.53 in your account ’til Tuesday is not the same unless you’re paying the utilities and don’t have enough to buy coffee at work, on your way to work, after work, and you couldn’t even scratch a pasty. So stop say, don’t say. Your privilege is an insanity brew, a generational breed above me, refuted. Your expectation is my bereft.
You sold us all out, thinking you were her rescuer, the only one looking for her. And for these years, 154, you’ve waited, sure she was stuck, and aside from seeing mortals play out succinctly, you’ve meditated only on her release and how you’d orchestrate it.
But she was never in there. And she never once returned to tell you that. She could’ve called, written, texted if she knows how, but maybe she doesn’t. Not all technology’s an easy sell when you’re set on something else entirely.
She could look like Madonna now, and I’m never completely sure how Madonna looks now because she evolves quicker than tap water: some days it tastes like chlorine, others bi-carbonate. There’s salt collecting in your teeth dips.
Because we’ve fucked, fucked five years ago or four, you think my emotions are thread pickable, place-able like buses on timetables. But if someone asked which celebrity I’d most want to sleep with, all things considered, how would you answer?
And it’s not the not knowing. There are things I don’t know about you, like, how much Botox you’d have if cash wasn’t a motivator and who you think would win between Ben Affleck and Matt Damon and if you’ve swallowed bubblegum and who you’ve kissed since 1995 and when you last ate pesto.
It’s the levelling. The Top 5 lists and history-thickeners. Facts important as Bible passages, prayer beads and meditation outfits. The names of Jennifer’s unborn children.
I envied every chameleon with a wig change or outfit designed by some supposed celebrity designer although stitching clothes together never struck me as a forward facing career but it is now. And high school girls swapped dye bottles weekly but I kept my hair colour ’til I was 28 and it was an awkward give up, devoid of all the right moves.
I’d morph selectively, pick roles with the tenacity of Tom Cruise, absolutely in control of a destiny I was ready for, that I could taste like the food from the next tent over at a festival with something else frying in front of me: pasties or frites or paella.
At the top, criticism rolls off but people expect private property to be operative like the game Operation, and first takes stomach, and next claims eyes. But I don’t want pieces. I’m still interested in decisions. And you’re impeccable at them.
We were at a bar. It wasn’t Cocktail but when I say that Tom Cruise and I were in a bar everyone will just think Cocktail. I didn’t know what he wanted me to say but it was something. I’ve seen that glass-eyed sigh on other men but no-one’s profile ever looked so good.
I said, any told-you-so didn’t cut it and I’d never say that because there were reasons he didn’t pick me, then, when he picked her and those reasons would probably stand now. Probably.
His smile was Jack’s pre-apocalypse, Jared Leto in My So-Called Life, that guy whose name I’ve tried to forget since I first heard it but haven’t even since Facebook deleting.
He asked, “What if I’m wrong?” and I asked, “Was wrong?” and he said, “Is. Was. Almost.” And the moment to lean in, prompt, was undercut with absence which is the absolute wrong impression on which to start something.
Later, he defended me when my family were risked, troubled, taken, or trapped and I woke up reeling; Fourth wife, fourth wife, fourth wife.
You can’t contain the history you are which is a series spiller, more akin to House than Cumberbatch, who’s an uptight, trench coat, duffel coat buttoner.
And it’s the thick wall partitioning in the flat share which keeps me watching, and it’s not that I want you to fuck exactly because I understand the aftermath of craved unions; I’ve lived a timeline ready to scoop hipbone like uncooked potato.
If you’re renewed, keep cancellation bayed, and the critics lay off as they’ve not watched – I wouldn’t preach something I didn’t experience first, so I could comprehend the wrongs and rights of it – I’ll expect an awkward episode in season 4 and I’ll make my mind up then.
Lucy’s not degraded, is instead the controlling, force and reason of James Wilson, the purpose and narrow and utter empowerment, unliveable without. No second best, now.
You vowed not to be easy but minds change quickly and swearing something sexually is a bad move. Promise rings are Vaseline-begs and abstinence lectures are dating seminars in which you’re sure to find you someone you’ll like. Sure, they’ll never sleep with you but you can sleep with yourself until somebody does. Until someone wants to.
And each incantation was a basic lie, which meant every word meant less, somehow, until you could say something false, outright, without consequence. It was basically god’s work.
Conversion never worked. Was an awkward blushed-face ready meal which wouldn’t cook despite following the package instructions. No-one flipped simply like sermons suggested. Instead you were a hive-causing itch that everyone wanted to extricate which made it very tricky to get laid.
You pick me when I’m not me – when you think I’m someone else completely. And I always pick you.
The problem is, who you fuck alters timelines, and you fucked in the wrong order. Her first.
You don’t know what I’ve given to god and the times I’ve given it up and how many times I’ve sworn to stop something for good. But I never do. And the mere promise of it – quitting – is enough to keep me conducting for my whole life which, if I’m lucky, lasts ’til 2062.