Life Soup

I’m not surprised his ex/exs(?) had difficulty with his tactile friendships.

I’m pretty relaxed but I still felt a little twinge here and there when he was kissing, cuddling, holding his best girl friend’s hand. Ok, she’s gay. But still, I had the invasive thought at one point in the day that he might be in love with her and maybe I’m just the next best thing, cause he can’t be with her.

I dismissed it, of course. That path only leads to misery for everyone involved in the end. And he’s idealistic, sweet hearted (I hope); I don’t think he’d understand how it can hurt to see the one you love the most being intimate with someone else.

Those thoughts make me selfish. He’s been friends with her for a lot longer than he’s known me, and after I’m gone (hypothetically) she’ll still be there.

There are many different kinds of love, and we all feel and express them differently.

This studio is fine for now, it’s a roof over my head.

But coming home to this box feels like sitting in a station platform waiting room - I’m on my way to somewhere, an ultimate destination, just keeping warm until my train comes in.

At night it’s quiet here and I feel alone. I keep music or the TV on to stave it off, but it’s a poor substitute for conversation, or the sound of someone shuffling around, getting ready for bed perhaps, in the room next door.

I remember what we really were, even if you don’t.

It consumed us at first, down to our very bones, until we hated each other for the pain of being two, not one.

We couldn’t do things by halves. And back then I wanted it - to self-destruct in your arms, I wanted to crumble to dust and you were there, waiting to pass me the gun.

It was the kind of love that made Bonnie and Clyde. The ties that bound - pain, death, resurrection. Repeat again.

It was a half life.

“seeing your fat face on linken and [work] website is very funny. i have shown it to a few girls, as “thats my ex”.  ”ewwwww… her??? REALLY???”.    yes yes i say, i did love her. but not any more. so she is just some fat chick to me now.”

“the pussy i am getting now, well worth it.  having a cock is alot of fun.  people who are hung up on love are idiots.    there are alot of horny students despate for a distraction from there studys. and well, they dont call me the fanny magnet for nothing.”

“to quote Winston Churchill.  I may be drunk, Miss, but in the
morning I will be sober and you will still be ugly.  my teeth are
fixed, my health addressed, however you are still you.

its good to know people like you exist in the word and you should hold
your head up high, you are amazing lol  :)

i hope karma works on you, the way it has for me.  i really think
there is a god out there :)”

Perhaps I should start writing all this down in good old paper form like I used to. That way my thoughts can get lost, or find their way into a bonfire or a dusty loft.

These jots aren’t reflective of who I am, they’re just fleeting sensations, bursts of high emotion expelled through my fingertips, entrapped in inadequate language and banished to the boundaries of a blank page.

His gentle touch heals me.

Jeff Buckley left a space in the world with his departure that will never be filled.