180310 shalom, farewell, auf wiedersehen - goodbye

So I mentioned my friend’s dealer. Yes, that’s how I like to refer to him. The South African that was sourced for me to fuck.

You have escaped a convoluted pondering on spiritual connection, and a lecture on time and space being abstractly relative.

It’s been nearly two months. And Five occasions. And yes, I do count.

That’s the point. I do count.

I can cope with ‘I’m not emotionally available’.

But as my good friend Johnny puts it, ‘I’m not emotional’.

We had good times. Really deep fucking. The kind that’s good. Books, film, alternative culture, that sort of thing.

But he never texted me. And so tonight was the unbeknown grand finale. Or maybe he knows it, shallow in his waters…………

He cooked for me, which is sweet. He drank my chai. I wrote him a poem that ended:

Some

Bitch

Some

Shit.

I like to leave something behind. And it’s him.

And ironically, I think he’s the only man to walk me home, ever, in my life. As in, purposefully make the decision to walk me home. Mainly to get me out of his flat. And I was going to decline the offer, being the well-travelled hardened bitch that I am. Then I remembered that thing they refer to as ‘self esteem’.

And now I feel great. The queen of premature endings. Don’t wait till the light’s burnt out. Don’t wait till you’ve inflicted so much pain on each other you can’t turn over in bed at night. Just end it. Beautiful endings.

Or worship me. Or fuck off.

Fin