You Don’t Make These Decisions Yourself

Some decisions are group, joint, collected opinions, like the compiled works of a semi-famous poet you’d rather pick and choose from, but how convenient, handy. The value.

You didn’t believe in evolution until this moment and looking down at your ambitiously sized shirt, skimming boots, you see how change for the better is observed after and not everyone likes the world being round, not all believe it. Some people think that cliffs, rocks, are six thousand years old, erase dinosaurs like they’re a movie, theme park, out of favour with the world’s kids now.

You couldn’t marry someone who didn’t see the value of Steve Carell, thought Radiohead’s career ended in the nineties. Underestimation’s an aphrodisiac, you work until it takes shape like pinched pie rim. You see the potential in people, they don’t see, likely dormant until they’re dead, but you’re hopeful for discoveries, fumbles with impressive looking men in the bedsits lived in only until they hit big. This is not Sex and the City. How many disappointing people do you have to sleep with until you see all your decisions are wrong?


If There Is Anything You Want To Believe, You Can Find The Reasons To

If we took photos the same day each year, one date in August, or March, or July, would the crease in your forehead deepen like a timelapse video, and your eye colour fade, your sclera look sticky the longer we left? What else would we learn, besides that we were almost together, but it took ten years of skirting photographs, sitting one seat off the other, speaking online alternate months if there was something to say. And I’d invent things, but lies are all in delivery and, even typed, mine wobble, are the bridge that shouldn’t swing but does.

Our history is not the sort of thing you compile into a line like, “We poked on Facebook,” or, “We met on Match,” or, “We were on the same bus once.” All I can say is, “I made decisions. I re-made them. We saw the Star Wars re-release together and dated more than twice. Saw Radiohead. Slept in hostels. Moved in then out then in. I hope we’re not a series of snapshots, near misses, catalogued in a book, designed to make you cry on screen. I want a fatter history than that.”