Omnichron
Omni- (Latin) everywhere, everything.
Chrono/Chron- (Latin) indication of time/time itself.
Chrono/Chron- (Latin) indication of time/time itself.
The Present-
box full of poison
box full of poison
Time is a ruthless bitch that makes you sure you don’t forget where you went wrong. On my path to redemption I tried to redeem one of those wrongs. There must have been twenty drunken messages sent, some poetic, others downright disgustingly rude. But I like to consider myself a man of versatility. She was there in my life so prominently, it was a strange feeling knowing she’d never be there again. I could see her face as I woke up every morning, she would be so peaceful only a true sinner would want to wake an angel from a slumber like that. And I’d just watch as her chest rose and fell. She’d make breathing so majestic it was like a ballet, finely tuned; practiced and provoking emotions I never knew I had. It was a thousand things to tell me it was love. She’d groom me like a primitive ape, bursting puss filled spots off my back, brushing dandruff off my shoulder, and wiping away the left over sauce of a lasagne. It was all crude but intrinsic. She knew me, my life and repetitive actions and feelings, when I wanted solitude, when I needed attention, when I couldn’t face another worthless day with work. We were cogs functioning a clock that we moved together, creating our own time. I missed it intensely.
Days would go by quickly and I would consistently try and get in touch with her, but most attempts prevailed in a lack lustered silence, or if I was lucky small talk that consisted of our lives so far, jotting down achievements and failures in a bullet point presentation to the bitterness or glee of the other. This drunken message however she kept talking, and she’s still talking to me now. And my elation can only be counted in infinities, wondering where this could go again. I couldn’t but help think about the past, what it meant or where it could go.
In a shoe box I looked over the old photos I had, and there were little. I had obsessed over her, admired her, more importantly imitated her in so many ways, if I could I would have been in her skin, but the problem I had with that was that I picked up her more vile traits. She had burnt and deleted every photo of her ex, and implied in so many ways that I do the same. Without her even asking I went ahead and I buried and banished every picture of every ex I had, and as soon as we broke up I got rid of every picture I had of her. In that shoe box, the cardboard box that hung together with cello-tape, were some letters and one picture of her that I went against the forced nature to keep hold of, one I took on a Polaroid camera I had since I was a child. We joked that it was the most expensive picture known to man those damn things cost a fortune, and she looked like a millionaire. Her hair looked wild as the winds swept in to the abyss of the trees, her smile graced the camera letting my finger automatically press down and create instant nostalgia. That damn picture was the reason for every drunk message. And dammit if I don’t need another beer right now.
Days would go by quickly and I would consistently try and get in touch with her, but most attempts prevailed in a lack lustered silence, or if I was lucky small talk that consisted of our lives so far, jotting down achievements and failures in a bullet point presentation to the bitterness or glee of the other. This drunken message however she kept talking, and she’s still talking to me now. And my elation can only be counted in infinities, wondering where this could go again. I couldn’t but help think about the past, what it meant or where it could go.
In a shoe box I looked over the old photos I had, and there were little. I had obsessed over her, admired her, more importantly imitated her in so many ways, if I could I would have been in her skin, but the problem I had with that was that I picked up her more vile traits. She had burnt and deleted every photo of her ex, and implied in so many ways that I do the same. Without her even asking I went ahead and I buried and banished every picture of every ex I had, and as soon as we broke up I got rid of every picture I had of her. In that shoe box, the cardboard box that hung together with cello-tape, were some letters and one picture of her that I went against the forced nature to keep hold of, one I took on a Polaroid camera I had since I was a child. We joked that it was the most expensive picture known to man those damn things cost a fortune, and she looked like a millionaire. Her hair looked wild as the winds swept in to the abyss of the trees, her smile graced the camera letting my finger automatically press down and create instant nostalgia. That damn picture was the reason for every drunk message. And dammit if I don’t need another beer right now.
The Past-
shelter in the downpour
It was a club that focussed more on its tolerant approach to snortable drugs than its taste in music, that was a required taste in itself. Rather than appreciate the DJ’s selective and thought induced tracks I instead decide to check out the outside area, where at the very least I might manage to camouflage myself into the shadows, where in this part of town seems to hide you from the vermin rather than follow you to them. I was with my cousin, hadn’t seen him in years and low and behold the place he wants to go to is the kind that attracts the guys who are pissing on churches after two shots of Sambuca. Rather than complain I just talk to his friends, who for lack of courtesy on my part, where all self centred arrogant pricks, but for an uncontrollable reason I couldn’t but help want them to like me. But sensing their over oozing obnoxiousness I avoided eye contact and went to further afield to see if there was single sane person in this purgatory of madness. A roar could be heard, thundering through the clouds, my body sank into itself, readying for a violent punch into the gut. Suddenly a thunder of rain flooded upon everyone at once. It was then that I saw her, brunette, long hair, lips that could be placed on any beautiful woman to make her a mythos. Soaked I must have looked no different to homeless rotten death, she looked at me wearily as I ran to her.
“You do know you’re going the wrong way?” Of course I knew. I just didn’t know I had ran to her. I swear I was drawn to her, pulled in by magnetism.
“I knew, yeah. You just looked like you needed some cover. Want a jacket?” I handed her over my coat, it wasn’t much. Actually it wasn’t anything. It was drenched. I hadn’t thought it through.
“You’re weird. But you’re funny.”
And we talked. It was a strange feeling, almost a sympathy for me for being so strange and detached from any social norms. I tried to listen, she thought I was listening at the very least, and she paused for a moment, and I placed my lips onto her. The water pounding down her cheeks, random droplets would sink into our kisses. Placing my hands on her hips I pushed her close into me, I wanted her to get lost into my soul, my every ounce of consciousness. If this torrential rain would flood us then I’d end my life and drown to keep myself locked in her. I closed my eyes to picture her face, capturing it so I knew it would definitely be her when I next dreamed.
shelter in the downpour
It was a club that focussed more on its tolerant approach to snortable drugs than its taste in music, that was a required taste in itself. Rather than appreciate the DJ’s selective and thought induced tracks I instead decide to check out the outside area, where at the very least I might manage to camouflage myself into the shadows, where in this part of town seems to hide you from the vermin rather than follow you to them. I was with my cousin, hadn’t seen him in years and low and behold the place he wants to go to is the kind that attracts the guys who are pissing on churches after two shots of Sambuca. Rather than complain I just talk to his friends, who for lack of courtesy on my part, where all self centred arrogant pricks, but for an uncontrollable reason I couldn’t but help want them to like me. But sensing their over oozing obnoxiousness I avoided eye contact and went to further afield to see if there was single sane person in this purgatory of madness. A roar could be heard, thundering through the clouds, my body sank into itself, readying for a violent punch into the gut. Suddenly a thunder of rain flooded upon everyone at once. It was then that I saw her, brunette, long hair, lips that could be placed on any beautiful woman to make her a mythos. Soaked I must have looked no different to homeless rotten death, she looked at me wearily as I ran to her.
“You do know you’re going the wrong way?” Of course I knew. I just didn’t know I had ran to her. I swear I was drawn to her, pulled in by magnetism.
“I knew, yeah. You just looked like you needed some cover. Want a jacket?” I handed her over my coat, it wasn’t much. Actually it wasn’t anything. It was drenched. I hadn’t thought it through.
“You’re weird. But you’re funny.”
And we talked. It was a strange feeling, almost a sympathy for me for being so strange and detached from any social norms. I tried to listen, she thought I was listening at the very least, and she paused for a moment, and I placed my lips onto her. The water pounding down her cheeks, random droplets would sink into our kisses. Placing my hands on her hips I pushed her close into me, I wanted her to get lost into my soul, my every ounce of consciousness. If this torrential rain would flood us then I’d end my life and drown to keep myself locked in her. I closed my eyes to picture her face, capturing it so I knew it would definitely be her when I next dreamed.
A (possible) Future-
metallic robots without emotion
metallic robots without emotion
Everything was how we wanted it to be. The perfect house, drapes that reached the floor with a centimetre to spare, furniture that was new and large and fitted us both and our three children, a television so large that it encapsulated the best part of the room. I had made it. It’s a tragedy when you have to remind yourself that you have the perfect life, it’s a misery when no matter how many times you tell yourself you’re in despair with what you could have become you ignore it. Tell yourself you’re wrong and your wife is right. Of course she’s right though, of course she is. She always is. I always try and I fail but she’s right. She plans, and she knows everything in advance and she does things right. I’m far too flakey to be in control. No. I’ve learnt now. Don’t listen to myself.
We sit and watch the television. The kids are finally dead in their beds. They never go to sleep when I tell them, I still love them, just I love them more when they’re not awake. They all look like her. I mean I love her, but it shouldn’t fill me up with so much hate should it? No hate is a strong word, but it’s a strong thing I feel, a bit like disgust but I know it can’t be disgust because I have so much love for my family. I guess if they looked like someone different I wouldn’t be so afraid of them, or resentful that they took my life from me. I was optimistic once, I think I was. She said I wasn’t but I can’t remember that well anymore. She sits and she feeds me this salted popcorn that tastes like crap. It cached between my teeth and digs itself into my open fillings, I notice my gums have opened up and gush blood as I use a tissue to dab away the excess moisture. Helena sees me.
“Well done.” She looks at me like I’ve just shitted on her grave. I sit up before she condescends me.
“It hurts.”
“It will hurt. Only you would know how to eat popcorn like a moron. Are you going to clean yourself up? For God’s sake. Just act like an adult for once.”
I head to the kitchen and it’s full of new things, new things what cost me lots of money with money I reluctantly earned in a job I wish I never pursued. Never had time to pursue passions, not with her being so successful. It made sense to me that I gave up trying to follow some unrealistic happiness from being a painter. Paintings don’t even sell for much anymore. I’d never have been able to support my kids. In the draw beside me is a set of new kitchen knives, the butchers cleaver is heavy and steady. I grip it. You could do serious damage with a cleaver like this...
The Present-
skull and crossbones
We sit and watch the television. The kids are finally dead in their beds. They never go to sleep when I tell them, I still love them, just I love them more when they’re not awake. They all look like her. I mean I love her, but it shouldn’t fill me up with so much hate should it? No hate is a strong word, but it’s a strong thing I feel, a bit like disgust but I know it can’t be disgust because I have so much love for my family. I guess if they looked like someone different I wouldn’t be so afraid of them, or resentful that they took my life from me. I was optimistic once, I think I was. She said I wasn’t but I can’t remember that well anymore. She sits and she feeds me this salted popcorn that tastes like crap. It cached between my teeth and digs itself into my open fillings, I notice my gums have opened up and gush blood as I use a tissue to dab away the excess moisture. Helena sees me.
“Well done.” She looks at me like I’ve just shitted on her grave. I sit up before she condescends me.
“It hurts.”
“It will hurt. Only you would know how to eat popcorn like a moron. Are you going to clean yourself up? For God’s sake. Just act like an adult for once.”
I head to the kitchen and it’s full of new things, new things what cost me lots of money with money I reluctantly earned in a job I wish I never pursued. Never had time to pursue passions, not with her being so successful. It made sense to me that I gave up trying to follow some unrealistic happiness from being a painter. Paintings don’t even sell for much anymore. I’d never have been able to support my kids. In the draw beside me is a set of new kitchen knives, the butchers cleaver is heavy and steady. I grip it. You could do serious damage with a cleaver like this...
The Present-
skull and crossbones
I open a stubbed can of lager, I had it stored in the fridge for over a week. On opening it I got a shocking sensation, it was refreshing my internal organs with intoxicating alcohol, sending endorphins through my body. I wondered if I would be able to get this feeling again with Helena. Would a rush of passion still succumb my body? Would I be able to be watch as she slept once more?
We had agreed to meet in the middle of the same place that fabled picture was taken, the woods just off a motorway that looked like nowhere else in England, there was a clear lake in its centre, massive and large, surrounded by sand. I watched as the sun created its colours on the water, seeing the blues merge with the reds, fusion like bodies entwining.
I could see her walking down the path in the far distance, I hadn’t planned to sit so far away, as she moved towards me it was awkward and slow for us both. I watched as her hair eclipsed the trees, creating herself as the millionaire of the woods once again. As she finally sat by me we watched the colours merge, together. Wasting no time she kisses me- familiar and nice. Her smile isn’t what I remembered. I have a quick pain in my arm. I begin to quickly doubt whether this was a good idea, but it was too late to turn back now. She was there. Her head moved to rapidly I couldn’t catch her eyes, I remember how easy it was to get lost in them. And then she stared, straight in to me, and I stared straight back at her, willing myself to sink into her brown circular cascades, but on looking I only saw my reflection, and I knew exactly where I were- as much as I tried I could not get lost.
“Your lips are still beautiful..” I lied, I couldn’t help but lie. They were kissable yes, but did I thinks she would become an mythological being? I didn’t.
“I’ve missed you.” I believed her, I didn’t want to but I did.
“If you missed me so much then why did you want to break up?” It was my chance to confront her.
“You know why. We were arguing so much, over stupid things, all the time. And you were talking of going away so much following your dreams. Do you still feel like that now?”
“Following my dreams?” I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t thought about it. I still draw, and sometimes I’ve been given some work to draw for people. But she was there. In front of me, I wasn’t sure what to say. “In a way I’ve done my dreams. I still hope to pursue them, but I guess I’m more realistic now. I just want to earn some money.” ‘Earn some money?’ This didn’t sound like me. I was possessed with the chance of stability. Was it wrong of me to think normality is a good thing?
The water washes up a dead bird, its skin worn away. Its pale white skull showed with its twisted rib caged crossed over each other. Helena carried on staring at the merging colours.
We had agreed to meet in the middle of the same place that fabled picture was taken, the woods just off a motorway that looked like nowhere else in England, there was a clear lake in its centre, massive and large, surrounded by sand. I watched as the sun created its colours on the water, seeing the blues merge with the reds, fusion like bodies entwining.
I could see her walking down the path in the far distance, I hadn’t planned to sit so far away, as she moved towards me it was awkward and slow for us both. I watched as her hair eclipsed the trees, creating herself as the millionaire of the woods once again. As she finally sat by me we watched the colours merge, together. Wasting no time she kisses me- familiar and nice. Her smile isn’t what I remembered. I have a quick pain in my arm. I begin to quickly doubt whether this was a good idea, but it was too late to turn back now. She was there. Her head moved to rapidly I couldn’t catch her eyes, I remember how easy it was to get lost in them. And then she stared, straight in to me, and I stared straight back at her, willing myself to sink into her brown circular cascades, but on looking I only saw my reflection, and I knew exactly where I were- as much as I tried I could not get lost.
“Your lips are still beautiful..” I lied, I couldn’t help but lie. They were kissable yes, but did I thinks she would become an mythological being? I didn’t.
“I’ve missed you.” I believed her, I didn’t want to but I did.
“If you missed me so much then why did you want to break up?” It was my chance to confront her.
“You know why. We were arguing so much, over stupid things, all the time. And you were talking of going away so much following your dreams. Do you still feel like that now?”
“Following my dreams?” I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t thought about it. I still draw, and sometimes I’ve been given some work to draw for people. But she was there. In front of me, I wasn’t sure what to say. “In a way I’ve done my dreams. I still hope to pursue them, but I guess I’m more realistic now. I just want to earn some money.” ‘Earn some money?’ This didn’t sound like me. I was possessed with the chance of stability. Was it wrong of me to think normality is a good thing?
The water washes up a dead bird, its skin worn away. Its pale white skull showed with its twisted rib caged crossed over each other. Helena carried on staring at the merging colours.
The Past-
clarity in sight
It was our first date. I don’t think our night under the downpour counted as a ‘first date’, it was more a first meet. I wondered what I could wear. I began to question my taste in clothes, I went out and bought myself a shirt even though I never wore a shirt. It was questioning who I was, beginning to feel like I needed to become a chameleon and imitate the my environment around me, I was sure she wouldn’t like me for who I was. Who I was wasn’t anything special. She was a metal head. So I began to wear sleeveless shirts that had Iron Maiden and Korn postered across blackness. You would think they could be metal without wearing black, it was all a bit goth for me. But I went with it, hoping that she could find some similarity with me. I was essentially simulating similarity. You may has well made me into a John Smith, I was an imitation of everything I wasn’t was.
I was with my friend that night, and she was with hers. I saw her before we met, and she saw me, but we acted like we hadn’t seen each other as it wasn’t the place we were suppose to meet. Nervous isn’t he word to cut it. It was terrifying. At the moment in time I was expecting her to see me with sober rational thought and think ‘fuck it’ and run a mile in the other directions. You would too if you saw me, receding man in his early twenties with only a half hearted attempt at a beard thanks to bad genetics and a belly that’s speared from too many beers. I’m not exactly every woman’s dream man. Maybe hers I hope.
Love is a confusing thing, I often think lust is love, it merges when you see their bodies circling in your eyes, you become fixated with their beauty and will convince yourself that’s who you want to be with. This was going to be another lust, I don’t think I even know love.
She was there, brunette hair, small and prominently quirky. She had something about her that made her odd to everyone around her, she spoke differently, off-key. We barely said anything to each other but it was weirdly felt natural, words didn’t need to be spoken, our hands waved next to each other until they gradually cupped and stayed together, I was sure she would let go but she gripped tight. Infatuation as hard as this had to be aesthetic. There’s no way she could like me as a person, I had barely spoken to her.
Epiphany hit. Did someone need to know a penetrated history to like me? My thoughts and opinions slowly took a side step to allow her to move into my life. I wanted her to see more, and let the space in my life become hers to live in. All through that grip that she held.
clarity in sight
It was our first date. I don’t think our night under the downpour counted as a ‘first date’, it was more a first meet. I wondered what I could wear. I began to question my taste in clothes, I went out and bought myself a shirt even though I never wore a shirt. It was questioning who I was, beginning to feel like I needed to become a chameleon and imitate the my environment around me, I was sure she wouldn’t like me for who I was. Who I was wasn’t anything special. She was a metal head. So I began to wear sleeveless shirts that had Iron Maiden and Korn postered across blackness. You would think they could be metal without wearing black, it was all a bit goth for me. But I went with it, hoping that she could find some similarity with me. I was essentially simulating similarity. You may has well made me into a John Smith, I was an imitation of everything I wasn’t was.
I was with my friend that night, and she was with hers. I saw her before we met, and she saw me, but we acted like we hadn’t seen each other as it wasn’t the place we were suppose to meet. Nervous isn’t he word to cut it. It was terrifying. At the moment in time I was expecting her to see me with sober rational thought and think ‘fuck it’ and run a mile in the other directions. You would too if you saw me, receding man in his early twenties with only a half hearted attempt at a beard thanks to bad genetics and a belly that’s speared from too many beers. I’m not exactly every woman’s dream man. Maybe hers I hope.
Love is a confusing thing, I often think lust is love, it merges when you see their bodies circling in your eyes, you become fixated with their beauty and will convince yourself that’s who you want to be with. This was going to be another lust, I don’t think I even know love.
She was there, brunette hair, small and prominently quirky. She had something about her that made her odd to everyone around her, she spoke differently, off-key. We barely said anything to each other but it was weirdly felt natural, words didn’t need to be spoken, our hands waved next to each other until they gradually cupped and stayed together, I was sure she would let go but she gripped tight. Infatuation as hard as this had to be aesthetic. There’s no way she could like me as a person, I had barely spoken to her.
Epiphany hit. Did someone need to know a penetrated history to like me? My thoughts and opinions slowly took a side step to allow her to move into my life. I wanted her to see more, and let the space in my life become hers to live in. All through that grip that she held.
A (possible) Future-
her blood is thick and crimson
her blood is thick and crimson
As I went back into the living room Helena had fallen asleep, her drool melting to her chin, sticky and cold. I did wonder whether she had any heart left in her anymore, even lizards had hearts I mused. If I did kill her I would still have the children, but they needn’t know. Am I really considering ending her life? I suppose I am. It’s the least I can do for her ending my own. She has been selfish these past thirty years. Demanding children when I never wanted any, demanding I get a job that I would never love, demanding, demanding. It’s the only adjective I can conjure to describe the wicked witch. You may be surprised how quickly my mind has turned, but you would be wrong, it is the front I put on that is in fact turned. I just no longer wish to pretend that I care for her. Malevolently she breathed out, she was in a dream that showed her torturing me I imagine, her nostril hairs grabbing on to air as if she was falling out from the sky, pure desperation. She knows her time is upon her. I approach, and her lips are red. That lipstick that stopped our kisses, she would never let me for fear it would remove it, then when we would kiss it would be passionless. I’d been granted permission, levelled down to a school boy asking to go to the toilet. In Hell she won’t need those lips, they’ll be red from the fire, fill with mucus and bile and she’d never need to replace that lipstick again. I stand above her with cleaver in hand, hesitating. I realise I can’t cleaver her, it would be far too messy. So I ponder my blood thirst to freedom. Realising that my hesitance would soon become me I slung the cleaver in to her, missing she woke, her eyes wide and full of knowing. She didn’t speak. Slinging my arm again she moved and threw a vase in to my face- she always loved that vase- I’m guessing she was upset. Plunging towards her I grab her by the throat until her face turned blue, mouthing to me what would be her attempted last words “Fuck you”. I didn’t care. She never fucked me anymore, I thought they were a poor choice to go out with. Maybe ‘I’ll never wanted to fuck you’, that would be more appropriate. Then again, nothing goes how we want it to. Unsatisfied with her passing, I pick up the cleaver once more and clunge it into her skull. It’s a clumsy affair, I’d clearly not done this before, and I quickly regret it. I do my best to pull it out but the cleaver won’t pull out. Footsteps are heard on the stairs. Scarlet my eldest couldn’t sleep. Or she heard the noises. Her mum’s dead, and her father her assassin. What to do.
The Present-
exploding lungs
I sat with her as we watched each other’s hands play with each other. I watched her and she seemed contempt. Like she had been waiting for me to come back to her all these years even though she pushed me away.
“Have you been waiting for me all this time?” I outright asked. It was burning on my tongue.
“Honestly, I don’t know what I’ve been waiting for. So many people I know now have gotten married, settle down. And you were there. Wanting me this whole time.”
“Am I just that for you? Someone who is there? Nothing more.”
“Does there need to be anything more than that? Isn’t part of a stable relationship having someone who’ll always be there for you?”
“It’s part of it but I don’t think it’s the whole thing. What’s the point of being with someone who’s always there for you but isn’t there for anything else?”
“I don’t understand.”
“As in, what’s the point of going through all the motions of catching something you care about only for it to want you to just ‘be there’, there must be something more to it, mustn’t there?”
“Maybe when we were younger, but now things have changed, we’ve changed, our friends and the world around us is changing, we can’t keep clinging on to the ideal that they’ll be someone perfect for us out there if we keep on looking. We need to be sensible.”
“But I don’t think that is sensible. You’re plunging into a future where you think you can just be reliant on someone because they’re reliant on you. Eventually it’ll just implode. You need love, lust, everything.”
“We’re both in situations now where we need to make a decision about our future. We need to have some movement forward.”
“I don’t know if I can move forward with you though. I thought I wanted to, you were all I dreamed about for so long. I compared every girl I ever met to you, set them on a pedestal so high I could never allow them to reach it, but now here I am with you and you and I can’t even put you on the same pedestal.”
“But that should prove my point shouldn’t fit? We might not have love but we could still could have a future. You’ll be just chasing girl after girl trying to recapture your first love. And I’m here.”
“You are. But it just doesn’t feel right, I’m sorry. I could once lose myself with you but I know exactly where I am, you’re comfort but you’re not my adrenaline. I need them both. I need it all.”
“So you’re selfish.”
“If that’s a name for it then call me selfish, I just don’t want to have a future where I don’t think it’ll work. I can’t see it working. I can see myself losing my mind.”
“I don’t think it’ll be as bad as you make it out to be.”
And I had enough. I left her by the lake, in the middle of the woods. Pulling out a photograph I handed it over, rather than burn it or throw it away I wanted to return it to its rightful owner. I thought at the very least if I couldn’t come out of the habits she had set me in I could at least create my own to go with them.
Walking home, I could only think about the past and what it meant, and the future and what it could become. There were warning signs to avoid her I know, but I couldn’t help think even though it may have drove me into insanity, there could have been the possibility that I’d be happy for a little while. Whether or not it would be worth it, I’ll never know.
exploding lungs
I sat with her as we watched each other’s hands play with each other. I watched her and she seemed contempt. Like she had been waiting for me to come back to her all these years even though she pushed me away.
“Have you been waiting for me all this time?” I outright asked. It was burning on my tongue.
“Honestly, I don’t know what I’ve been waiting for. So many people I know now have gotten married, settle down. And you were there. Wanting me this whole time.”
“Am I just that for you? Someone who is there? Nothing more.”
“Does there need to be anything more than that? Isn’t part of a stable relationship having someone who’ll always be there for you?”
“It’s part of it but I don’t think it’s the whole thing. What’s the point of being with someone who’s always there for you but isn’t there for anything else?”
“I don’t understand.”
“As in, what’s the point of going through all the motions of catching something you care about only for it to want you to just ‘be there’, there must be something more to it, mustn’t there?”
“Maybe when we were younger, but now things have changed, we’ve changed, our friends and the world around us is changing, we can’t keep clinging on to the ideal that they’ll be someone perfect for us out there if we keep on looking. We need to be sensible.”
“But I don’t think that is sensible. You’re plunging into a future where you think you can just be reliant on someone because they’re reliant on you. Eventually it’ll just implode. You need love, lust, everything.”
“We’re both in situations now where we need to make a decision about our future. We need to have some movement forward.”
“I don’t know if I can move forward with you though. I thought I wanted to, you were all I dreamed about for so long. I compared every girl I ever met to you, set them on a pedestal so high I could never allow them to reach it, but now here I am with you and you and I can’t even put you on the same pedestal.”
“But that should prove my point shouldn’t fit? We might not have love but we could still could have a future. You’ll be just chasing girl after girl trying to recapture your first love. And I’m here.”
“You are. But it just doesn’t feel right, I’m sorry. I could once lose myself with you but I know exactly where I am, you’re comfort but you’re not my adrenaline. I need them both. I need it all.”
“So you’re selfish.”
“If that’s a name for it then call me selfish, I just don’t want to have a future where I don’t think it’ll work. I can’t see it working. I can see myself losing my mind.”
“I don’t think it’ll be as bad as you make it out to be.”
And I had enough. I left her by the lake, in the middle of the woods. Pulling out a photograph I handed it over, rather than burn it or throw it away I wanted to return it to its rightful owner. I thought at the very least if I couldn’t come out of the habits she had set me in I could at least create my own to go with them.
Walking home, I could only think about the past and what it meant, and the future and what it could become. There were warning signs to avoid her I know, but I couldn’t help think even though it may have drove me into insanity, there could have been the possibility that I’d be happy for a little while. Whether or not it would be worth it, I’ll never know.
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