See Here.

Written August 2008.

One day when I see him again I'll see more than just the empty eyes of my cold Northern Lover. I'll see everything suddenly clear before me; that my dark dance with tragedy was a silly teenage phase like the posters on my wall or the embarrassingly emotional bands that I pretended not to like.

I'll know that all tears are crocodile tears- that feeling anything of any kind is another trap laid down by the distorted and grotesque human race. I'll see that for every time I received more bruises than welcome from my darling, beloved, b*****d it gave me skin and sinews enough to leave.

I'll see everything that for long years my miopic mind failed to see. I'll no longer see the daisies or the long grass, the stars we looked at together as we tried to deny who we were. I'll see the world in a snowglobe. Just the bigger picture, because being part of the picture means taking the risk of that infamous, horrible emotion that brings out the weaknesses in all of us.

I'll know I'm as bitter as my second glass and as cold as creeping dawn and as harsh as the cigarettes I smoke. But I'll see my reflection through drunken eyes and know it as the only person who ever loved me or saw me the way I wanted to be seen. That's all that counts.

I'll see him and yet he won't see me the way he last remembered me because inevitably when I last saw him my telling eyes still glistened with respect and leaked with sorrow. He'll know he's lost the game and resign himself to long years of torture that I'll have suffered and he'll listen to embarassingly emotional bands and cry crocodile tears whilst in the midst of pretending to be the tragic protagonist in a tragic movie because it gives him some purpose in the life he can't really live. Every dawn will dawn colder than the last for him as he lies awake or wanders aimless midnight roads.

But I won't be there to see that.

I'll be long gone like the summer breeze into autumn chill.