Multiple Identites

31/05/2012 § Leave a comment

He is the only person to know about all three of my lives, as I am the only one to know three of his, though perhaps he has more. It means a lot to me someone knowing these things. Even if he only has a vague outline of the first his knowledge of its existence is enough.

name‘ he says, I’ll call you ‘name‘ because it’s what you choose. ‘Thankyou’ I say.


Betraying a Soul

30/05/2012 § Leave a comment

What is my soul and how do I betray it?

How do I know if I’ve betrayed it?

Can I get my soul back once I have betrayed it?

Music Man

30/05/2012 § Leave a comment

He told me about a recurring dream he has of levitation. There’s nothing sweeter in life than when people tell you things like this, there’s nothing better than the correct balance of concise and loquacious, when people are aware of their words but speak freely. I like to be quiet and listen; I like to find people interesting.

I wish people spoke to each other more often like we do, with long semi-abstract narratives. I’ve had enough of ‘How are you?’ ‘Fine thanks’. That kind of talk is good in its place but I like to have certain people in my life where our conversations are extraordinary. It seems people are too scared to talk freely, to talk as if prose is poetry and everything has meaning, people are afraid to say too much. I’m glad we can speak this way together, at least for now.

He is discursive but never over-talkative because he is very aware of his words, it comes with his job and his personality. As soon as the phrase ‘self-aware’ come into my mind to describe him, he speaks first and says he finds me very self-aware. It is the third time in three days I have been called this and each person has meant it as a compliment.

Some days I am dark and watchful, some days bright and immature. He catches the days where I am the former and inside myself I hold still. Or perhaps his presence causes them.

He has made it so many years without bitterness; it is something I doubt I will have managed when I reach his age. I am already a bitter person in my teenage years. I see thick scars crawling over his skin from the things I learn, he doesn’t try to cover them just smiles in the unique way he does sometimes with his head tipped back and eyebrows raised, as if to say ‘do you know what I mean?’. I want to say ‘I do’, but no question is made verbal to reply to so instead I just smile and hope he understands.

I tell him to sleep, again and again, he never does.


29/05/2012 § Leave a comment

I want to write about our encounters but with some people it is impossible to put words in place of moments.

Firstly, he calls them encounters which no-one ever does outside of the space of my own head. I must be what he wants me to be, because that is the nature of our relationship but I’m not entirely sure what he wants so I’m never sure how to act. I choose quiet and sweet, it’s a safe bet to draw on a Lolita image. When being kind to myself I say ‘because it’s my natural state to be in these moments’, when being harsh I say ‘because I’m calculating and lazy’.

Sometimes I relax too much around him, become loud or sharp or bossy, frown and disagree. I know I can do this without it becoming an issue, he is submissive after-all and he enjoys seeing breakthroughs in my emotions. We all enjoy seeing others with passion, regardless of the subject.

He speaks both fluently and expansively of his life and the people and events within it. I admire his ability to understand himself, I’ve never known anyone to have such clarity when viewing their own struggle. There are things I want to say but it won’t sound right to write them down, doesn’t everything we do give an incorrect impression? Especially what is written, especially what is said.

He sends me texts when he is nearly asleep, and they are so unintentionally beautiful. His gift with words is often accidental, a pattern and rhythm that has been ingrained into him through years as a journalist. It takes me days to reply but that’s nothing personal, I am like that with everyone.

‘I miss you’ he says, ‘I miss you too’ I reply, only half lying.

Where Am I?

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