Quietus

Tonight, the man saw someone he desperately wanted to see, but desperately didn't want to see. A young lady who has caused him immense pain and yet so much greater joy and pleasure.

He wishes he knew how he felt, or that is how he would like to think. Actually, he knows precisely how he feels: he feels shame and desire, jealousy and justification but, above all, love.

Such wonderful torture, such painful pleasure to drink with you. Oh, if only I had been someone different, the person I am now, when I knew you first.

Oh, and I understand how you felt, that small hollowing out of your chest; that little destruction of your hope, I understand what you did there: did you not see how I welcomed you, against all those odds?

And all of those things that we did, all of those people that I was attached to since ended up bearing your face; how can I be with anyone bearing your face when it is only you that has made me laugh? I understand that only you met them, and only now can I understand what you felt; how can I apologise now, now I that I understand too late?

We had choice, you and I; and we exercised it to within the limit that we had. Two each and then death, the death of what we had. Those times came and they went and we had the cerebral agreement; was it the same on your side, did you want those choices only? Would you have welcomed an infinite chance, or just a few more goes?

Perhaps whilst you needed me; and I was happy to make you happy. Perhaps to be so, maybe others were needed. That small little chance to see whether, in this big city, we could be one again.

And I? I just want you to be happy and I am so glad that you are. I just hoped that I would be the one to make you so. And maybe I shall be yet.

Hope springs eternal, because I love you—and never so much as when you tell me to "shut up, you silly old man." Such small things, and yet those things mean everything. I love you, and I don't know how to let that go. There's no life, only living.

UPDATE: you see? Alcohol is not a good drug.


DISMISSAL: every now and again, your humble Devil tries his hand at something a little less trivial than the corruption of our politicians. The above may or may not relate to actual events and, in any case, is written for fun.