Is This Like That Movie ‘A Walk to Remember’?

People judge. Your congregation think they have an obligation to help you make right decisions, to regret wrong ones, to tell you which are the right and which are the wrong ones, because short-sightedness is not just a medical term. It seeps like badly fixed sinks or cheap bin bags, letting moisture through until your life’s wet and you’ve ticked wrong boxes on multiple choice tests, you’ve married people in error.

But this is not an error. At least, I hope that it’s not. I might be wearing a football jersey and you a high-street dress with the tags left in in case you need to return it, supposing no-one spills drinks over you (this is a party), but I chose what I chose because you bought it. Jack asks, “Why do you need to surprise people? Why are you trying to shock us?” But this isn’t a shock for us and it shouldn’t be for you, if you’d been paying attention. Some things you can calculate like a comet’s orbit or inflation. And you should’ve guessed this.

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Better Than You Were Before

Stop fucking with me. Either age gaps matter or they don’t. Have you pumped somebody’s stomach once they’ve drunk a vat of vodka, crushed a tablet into it? Wouldn’t think you’d have to, that the body knows what to digest and what it should eliminate immediately. But not always. We don’t make decisions with precision like uniformed bodies, funders, parents, best friends with best friend necklaces.

I’ve compiled clips, mostly in my head, but some committed to film, my iPhone, the webcam running on my computer when you don’t know, and what I can’t figure is, why you left last time? You said you weren’t ready for kids, commitment, but you never had a shirt fit you like I do, or a shoe. I buckle to bad heels, leave room for bunions, am in tune to insteps, the requirements of insoles: I’ll work on your posture if you want me to. I want to.

So stop fucking with me. Age gaps matter, don’t. I’ve pumped stomachs, felt my way around them with a finger, sewn tears up, kept a heart beating with hands. I’m all for matching jewellery or have you forgotten the offer I made with Jack in the picture, when Alex was there? I’ll never stop asking. Forget who I slept with between, it’s not a calendar. Forget the break-up dates, arguments in waiting rooms. Remember which song was playing.