Testing A Theory

I always thought unlikely happened, never saw it, and prefered it that way: it’s easier to believe something you can’t see, don’t know, sometimes.

Instead of laughing at your jokes I gave you square stares until you knew I’d absorbed you like Disaronno, pretty quickly into my bloodstream. I disagreed with you wherever possible, and even though banter or fake hate is a sign of relationship angst, I was more subtle than that. Business like. I was the pencil and you were the bitch.

You played along to a point until I couldn’t read every answer or underlying signal or subtitle and the plethora of meanings you gave out on any one day. The flutter of doubt sank me afternoons, post-midnight, whenever I’d watch Titanic (more often than I’d like, or you).

I hold tight, meditate on incomplete sentences and post-it note hand overs at end of night shifts you start as I leave or vice versa. If we switched bodies I’d make my move faster. The potential’s just hanging in the air like a 3 day old helium balloon, not spent yet.

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To Stupidity

One day you will be stupider than I would’ve thought possible. You’ll surprise yourself, while not surprising, because every bold-seeming move is a somewhat pre-figured one on your part, an off-kilter step you knew you’d take when needing to force your skin.

But I will stand by you. If it’s illegal, in question, unwise or simple, I’ll take the risks you need to take with you. I’ll die if that’s the route you’re on, if there’s little leg room or leeway.

Once I was stupider than you’d allowed for and you let me be it and told me I was and I wasn’t and played every action to its finish, conclusion. You really love board games and card games and video games and sex games and word play and squash court banter.

I name this cocktail after you knowing what Darwin had in mind with that thesis, the one he tried to retract when he realised what it did to religion. But there aren’t take backs. Take backs are a plethora of swear words that you only need to know that I’m thinking.

Streamlining

At some point two men is too many men although it seems like a good idea to start: you should always have a redundancy.

Since you saw that Sex and the City episode you back all your files up but you also understand love is unexpected and cyclical and every person you say no to, send away, is due a do-over, and chances are available – like sold out Chanel on eBay. You’ve got to pay a little extra for it, give more of yourself you think you’ve not got, but if you’re serious about completing collections, can say you exhausted every inch and avenue when you’re dying or dead, it’s worth it.

The decision is simpler than you think. When someone calls you “family” you either feel it or don’t. And when Jack says it you picture Annie Hall, Bride Wars, imagine letting go, and realise it’s possible, and that it shouldn’t be, and your choice is made for you and it’s the right one and it’s the right one and it’s the right one and the right one is.

A Professional Knight in Shining Armour

She married you, not the professional knight in shining armour, who does what you’d expect of him: swooping and saving, proposing on alternate knees when one gets tired, buying more than one meal a day for a woman. She married you but it’s not an important distinction. And it’s not a real marriage anyway, if there is such a thing, and it’s not a construct, tradition, imposed by men, invented by them, so they could conquer another thing, now that countries are given back and their sculptures are fought over and sent to their countries of origins and there are no real discoveries, especially as the ones about the universe are insumountable, to your mind, anyway.

There is no win in your head, no decision, action, that could make this divorce right, so it has the desired effect – that she’ll go on a date with you. She basically committed fraud, marrying you so you could scrounge the insurance she doesn’t need yet. Ask yourself, would many women go to the lengths she does to get you medical attention? And the list’s not long, if only she’s on it, then do whatever the fuck you can to stop her. Knights are fairy tales written by men, also.

Let’s create new histories, other stories, in which the unexpected happens, the unlikely is true.