How To Be Brave

Saying never is an asking-for-it move and your vows were, “Never you, not you, no,” but me now. And me.

What we bill split I’ll receipt tick and box keep with every egg shell breakfast, cinema stub, left sock, under my bed.

Going back and over what’s said is satisfying when forever can be coddled again. Our always might just be on tap.

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A Little Further Away From Me

Since you ended it, slept with my best friend, published secrets about me to gain status, I’ve accepted we’re not an aquarium meet, an accidental street bump which romantic comedy ends us at the same address.

If there are 7 stages, steps, tick boxes to log and work through, I’ve done it, and some I’ve completed more than once. I didn’t cling to concepts past, to versions you were clear were fictions, temporary incarnations. I moved on with a number of men, and I moved back through some who, inappropriate the first time, looked promising like a Spiderman reboot, but essentially, what extra is there? Where’s the worth?

And you might think Batman worked, but in fifty years somebody’s son, grandson’s going to remake or boot it and you’ll curse the Christian Bale choice, because hindsight makes us all look shit. And I wish I said granddaughter, that it could stand, turn in 2062, but who the fuck am I kidding?

If something doesn’t change, move against it, because nothing’s constant: even stone statues melt.

Thanks For Being Humiliated With Me

I hoped that you’d get together but I hoped that too with Joey and Dawson and I’ve never recovered from that wrong choosing, even when I said I had, got determined to pick my own Pacey even though flaky men and downright liars aren’t my type, but some women are impressionable, impressed with bullshit stories and outdoor sex and boats and unbuttoned top buttons.

This is the 6 episode tease as the end unravels although, actually, the end started way back, when Mum birthed the last of us. Since then we’ve been treading water, ready to contaminate us all by 2018. Or, you know, a comet or something.

Surprises We Were Hoping To Avoid

Things you won’t wish for like
Sleeping with men your mother did
Or friends’ exes
And incurable illnesses
False rumours
True ones
And sex tapes
And restarts with Dan and Matt and Joe
And Jack
Week 3 out of 5 or 4 out of 10
Any mid-point
At which the dip is a death mask making
And any unclean paid for hotel room
Or Jury’s Inn
Eleventh choice at best

Perjury

Didn’t keep a diary when I was small, or now, because that requires a level of honesty I’ve not got. Someone always finds it and I didn’t want my secrets spread on toast. Nutella makes me hyper, peanut butter makes me sick, jam is just fruit in a jar.

Better to code it, write stories, change names, than allow for the possibility of it found, and serialised, and internet property. Not that public would care about mine the way they care about Hannah’s, Blair’s. This isn’t HBO or a show closely mimicking shows which used to be on HBO years ago. Or how about that Showtime?

If I had something important to say that hadn’t been said, I’d bitch it out loud and let the words fog up. Vocal purging’s just as satisfying: have you not heard of confession? And then it’s gone. And I’d get guilty for it because there’s no resolution really and forgiveness is a sickness – some things you can’t track back from.