Sunday, 21 March 2010

Yesterday, she gripped my wrist as we walked together. I turned, and she pulled me into her and kissed me hard on the mouth. Her eyes closed, her lips soft and perfectly unconscious of the tourists leering at the two women making out in the middle of the tube station in rush hour London. And when I kissed her back, it was with the acute sense of performing and an uneasy sense of betrayal. Can she sense how I crave the Ex-Boyfriend? Would it disgust her to know how many times I've gone back to play make-believe with him? In the morning, when he sleeps I lie with my head resting on his heart, listening to it pound and pretend that this is love. And when he fucks me, I imagine that he's really in love with me and that this is how we're expressing our desire to be as intimate as possible. Last time, I promised myself. But I was drunk (I feel like I'm now obligated to be when I'm around him - it's the only way he knows me) and it just slipped out as I clung to his neck. 'I love you'.
Since we broke up, he's had sex with some girl in the year above. Accidentally he told me her name. And now, she's all I can think of. When he has sex with me, does he think of her? Just as when I kiss other people, I think of him? What a strange place to be caught in - somewhere between violent jealousy and a desire to purge myself of this guilt. Why play make-believe love? Those hours when it's just me and you and our game of love mean everything to me. And also nothing at all, it appears.
love me, love me, love me
just discard every expectation right here
i'm trying to disappear
and this too will pass.