Leaving

Mar. 31st, 2016 12:36 pm
sehnsucht: (pinguin)
[personal profile] sehnsucht
Hi all, it's been a while.



It's the funny thing really. I was sitting there on your bed, watching the patch of sunlight moving its way across the wall, that ancient carpet, the patch of damp you never got round to getting fixed. I was trying not to move, you know, try not to make it real.

"Are you ready? Everything packed?" Then he laughed. "Of course you have."
Always the control freak.
"Yeah."
"Cup of tea before you go?"
"Cheers."

"So what's your plans?" I shrugged. "I don't know. I've got a few things on." I didn't, nothing at all.
"You will keep September free though? I'd really like your input on this one."
I nodded. "I'll talk to Daniel."
"Do it." He grinned, and then jumped at the sound of tyres on the gravel outside.
"Don't worry, it'll be the taxi." Sure enough as I said it, my phone started buzzing. I lifted my bag. "Well Martin", this is it. "Thanks for... you know."
"Yeah." We embraced. God he was and is lovely. I tried not to get choked up.
"Give me a text when you get in?"
"Yeah." Yeah, don't phone him, don't let your number show up on the landline. I wonder if he'll ever get sick of this cloak and dagger stuff.
He opens the door and the taxi is parked up, engine going. He grabs me and snogs me, eyebrows forever raised, glance forever directed out the door. Love as transgressive performance. I am
so utterly sick of living this way. I will wear this memory thin with reliving it.
"Bye Martin."
"Bye, Alan." He blows a kiss, the taxi turns, I'm gone.
It's a gratuitous gesture. It's a gesture. In a couple of keystrokes I could delete and block. And it's probably breaking one or two minor laws or at least very bad form in one way or another, what I do. But oh god the feeling of relief, of release. To just take the phone, all the notes, the emails, the photos, the texts, and just put the fucking thing in the bin, and then walk in and get a shiny new one. If I could take all my clothes off and burn them, just walk through the fire and come out new maybe I would do it.
I imagine sometimes that it is still there, ringing, and I could go back in and get it. Pick it up, return his call, trace all my footsteps and be back there and back in his arms and all would be forgiven and everything would be forgotten and so on and so on...
But, no.
Goodbye, Martin.
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