Little Bird is bringing a guest to our Sylvester festivities. A weekend with her and a new amour, who I'm not sure about. She professes great feeling, and then nothing comes from it. One of our friends said that she seemed unsure, maybe because this man is nice (and others haven't been)- but I think it could be the disjuncture. Him and me. Me observing- and I will, and she knows I will.
I was angry about this. Alright, she may have a new beau; but to flaunt him in front of me seems cruel. On the other hand, I give her the impression that I don't mind what she does; it was just a night. But it wasn't, not really, because I held those feelings for her for a long time. I don't know how long she reciprocated. And I think, it's not so much that I still feel that for her; it's more that it brought it back, a ghost of it, and now I just want a while to gestate over it.
But what else will she think, if I've concurred with everything she's said about it being momentary? We were both drunk.
Another thing that irritates me is that she always uses hyperbole when she's trying to convince herself of loving someone. He's always the new best thing since sliced bread. With me, there was no hyperbole; or there was, but she couldn't exaggerate to anyone else to convince herself. They never turn out to be the best thing. But then, I wouldn't be either. I only know that she's beautiful, and I can fart with her, and I don't feel embarrassed about anything; watching crappy TV, not reading, lazing about. This is what I miss. I probably still do hold a torch, else it wouldn't be this patent. I wouldn't have typed for so long otherwise.
DB. I am sure she detests me, which makes it more difficult to hold a flame for her. She thinks that I am ridiculous (perjorative). I think that she did admire me for speaking French (you always admire people for things you can't do). I still do, but I can see that it's futile- utterly. I can't even befriend her because I'm too much of a loser.
Bee. I have worked it out. She wants to feel safe, and that's why she waltzes from man to man. She's in need of something to hold onto now that a horrible thing is happening; she needs someone strong and constant, and it can't be us, because we are too touched. She needs someone to hold, because she isn't getting that at the moment.
MH. Another one that would never have me; she prefers men, there's a massive age gap, I'm weak. But I prefer her. See, she's another one that will think I am pathetic for not being able to do what so many in my line of work can; control and enthrall. Which she does with aplomb. I come under her spell, bewitched at the backs of recalcitrant youths. I spend the hour with a silly grin on my face, listening to her sleepy voice weave its way into reluctant minds. She is kind and steadfast, and flexible and unshakeable. She finishes each task she sets me with, 'if you feel OK with it', but she never patronises. She's so eager not to overstrain anyone's capabilities, and gives me lovely things to do. I want to do my best for her. I think that most people do. She's immune to insult from everyone, and I adore this about her, but she will show vulnerability; a split with the father of her child, and the death of her own at a young age. She'll share it without sentiment and tears, sensible, "both a different kind of upset", never twee. Beautiful. I think she is. She would laugh if she heard me say this; she doesn't style herself as a beauty. The furthest I've got towards telling her any of this is, "I'm always impressed with you". Because I am. Today, she danced as a troupe; as a christmas joke. She's got no rhythm, and she didn't move very well; it was sweet, and confident, and I laughed and loved her for it. I want to tell her that she's kind, not saccharine, strong. And bright, and beautiful. All things.
Friday, 18 December 2009
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