Sunday, 17 May 2015

We've all been broken. There is something in the polaroids we take of the ones we love. 5

Home becomes still a faint recollection of all shattered memories and all the confusion cushioned because there is no longer love to fight for, which I’ve had estranged in my hands and Brian which would keep coming, as I would only understand his feelings far too long further down the road, when Miles had raised it and when me and Brian had started dating or rather a bit before, when me and Brian started hanging out alone properly, as he would manage to yank me outside just to walk around as I wasn’t too bothered and flattered by the outside world, because I knew that it would hold nothing open for us, specifically for Brian who would get the harshest of questions which would leave him either spitting something back or actually getting depressed and I would just yank him somewhere for a drink. 

The realization that someone loves you back comes from properly looking at them for the very first time, when you glance up and he had been staring at me, smiling a bit sheepishly and downing more alcohol than I could in one gulp. 

It started to become like two ropes, my own confusion with Miles where we both ended up being stuck in each other’s corridors, never allowing ourselves to say anything to each other. 

And misery seems even more vibrant when alone, as I get back home, refusing any looks from Valentine as she kept going back, following me and I didn’t mind and all I could do was a quick hug to avoid the awkwardness and make her feel as if I wasn’t too rude. 

I didn’t even have her phone, even if I wanted to talk of my past with someone and I couldn’t get myself to call anyone, because I knew that everyone knew. 

Misery comes alone at all times, to keep the bloodiest of companies. 

Miles always ended up being the wrong time until I had come home one night and took an old stack of newspapers and magazines I was going to use as collages and I kept ripping them until the morning where I passed out, so that all the thinking which could be done, was done, because neither of us wanted to speak of it, as the feelings would flare up when we didn’t want to and when I would think of it clearly I just wanted Brian. 

I pick up the phone, wanting to call Brian and knowing where I trip every single time, to just open a few social media websites to barely see any activity and one photo of him and Stefan. Maybe it’s okay if they’re together. Maybe it’s okay to want him now.

“I’ll never be able to say, that I miss you in the most ridiculous of ways.” Brian had told me, smirking, as we had left the pub and wind was blowing his hair in his face, as I was looking for a lighter and then I just looked at him, still scared of not knowing his feelings even if he had trailed after me every day and became friends with Miles, that Miles even hinted that he got asked if we were an item, which I hadn’t considered properly at the time, enough to let the thoughts bleed out in conversation and Brian had pushed them out by that time, as he pushed the hair back, holding it from the wind and I had kissed him then, Brian nearly jumping but clutching onto me, tightly, sighing from sudden relief and it seemed to hold the taste of something permanent-

we had both lost

night after night.

Because only fools lose love and he knows that. I clutched tighter onto my phone, feeling immense desire from calling him or throwing the phone to see how does it feel to lose it, even if I know that it never eases the pain, cutting yourself, throwing things, all is surface and noise and I start presuming so is suicide. And nothing will stop me from knowing that I told him to leave because I don’t want him back, therefore I have killed my own life and I’m surprisedly gasping at what would happen now that I’m dead, as I replay old movies of my life as heaven goes away.

There was something in her softness, in her bleak lipstick across her lips and lost look, as she had seen the world across her nails from her eyelashes which turned night into day with an umbrella and some cliche sensitivity seemed to be clouded by her suit and I wondered how much she had glowed once taken off to turn off the day for today. And I mused on her for a while, solely because I was sure she would look gorgeous behind a frame with her birthmarks and lost knowledge to walk on. 

I wondered if I were just cliche or lonely for thinking on women and instead I dragged the bedcovers over my head, telling myself once you pay the bills and you know something, you’re great. And that’s when love gets to your head or the lack of it in an empty broken planetarium, which ended up being the nape of my room. I scribbled stars above the TV set and then wiped them off and I still eat noodles, staring as if they might show up, because if a miracle can happen so can the stars I had asked my dad as a child, before I knew that I had been an orphan with the yells of my parents stating how I would never find anything: nor love nor myself. Because I had become gay to them.

I wonder how long and intense the feeling of death would be.

“I barely write ideas down, sometimes I want them to either go away because there’s too many like a manic fuzz or I simply get scared of them.”

“Drink your medication, Jamie.” Miles mumbled sleepily into the phone, not hiding the fear of Alex not sleeping over tonight. And I feel like I’m holding his candle, when I know he’s no longer running and my own thoughts have been discarded, as I simply went under the kitchen counter, thinking of Alex and Miles. I lit a cigarette, knowing where we both were headed and my mind went astray for a brief moment and I wondered how much should I even talk about a single moment, when he had told me that he had loved me and I replied that I had loved him as well and it was as if that was all we had ever had to say and that was sufficient, to somehow behave as friends and that was it. And briefly, for that one moment which you’ve caught the shooting star in, it’s a reflection before you can see it in the soup of the sky. 

“There’s an odd Russian song, which goes about a man who lost his beloved and he goes asking different trees and other things, where did his beloved go.” I cough. “He doesn’t find her. He asks his best friend where is she, and the friend replied that she’s his wife now. When I was young I wouldn’t understand why people blamed the man for not marrying the beloved. I always blamed the friend.”

I click my tongue.

“I think I know why.”

He holds our silence. I know we should both put it to rest, because his silence is more bleak than colourful and somehow friends is sufficient because we’ll never have each other.

“Night, Miles, I’ll drink the meds.” And he goes to bed with Alex. “It’s still a beautiful song, even if the ending kills you.”

I always wondered why don’t the credits ever come, why whenever I would wish it the most, nothing would go on to be a perfect ever after even if me and Brian wouldn’t get back, I wanted an ending where I would be content from them on with no regrets, like the credits promised. And I wondered why couldn’t desire ever overlap and how I had started shaking, knowing that soon enough I’ll truly be left alone in some waltz of desire I would never have the courage with when it comes to Miles and how come confessing love ended up going nowhere and the same time it seemed like something comforting that it had been done. And confessing the void, that I had missed him how we had once lived and laughed at all misfortunes and I wish I wasn’t as worried and that we had done something at least once instead of having it repeat and unravel in the mind once again. I would never tell him that I love him again because I don’t want him to go through the wilderness again.

When a break up happens you’ll never know which one you’re mourning, is it the one before because the tears never dried up? And by the end of it who do we actually mourn, is it solely because we’re single and why is it so hard to dig up the love which has rooted so deep inside us that there is literally nothing else to tell or fortune tell? Are we truly miserable when we stop caring about the future since the past had been forgotten by all the stress and depression, making sure that no memories go through giving a false sense of amnesia so that possible we could manage to sleep somehow until the morning, dreams showing bright fabrics of things which hadn’t happened. And if you’ve never spoken about the relationship then you’ll surely not talk about the break up either and I wonder if I had even been in love then and maybe I should be focusing on the Miles then. I need to understand the difference and I pick up the phone again, I call him but his phone is off and I contemplate on calling Valentine because those who end up listening and actually replying are maybe the ones who should stay as long as you acknowledge that the rest has moved on and you’ve dug a grave for yourself in your yard when you were told you’ve got a hundred to live and you can buy anything you want for the rest of your life, because even if I’ll have the worst of days, there will be the yellow search for some reason until something starts working like medication. And then you’ll find yourself in others if my own reflection is not bright enough in the mirror to see when I take a photo.

But telling someone to be your friend is perhaps much more awful and desperate than breaking up, so even of the aspect of her being here I end up crawling to the kitchen to get wine, drinking before I can even count and send a text, feeling a rush which I’d usually tell myself that confidence gets me nowhere as I send a text. I think we only take back people we truly wanted but other than that we always want to smash our exes face but it takes a while to identify our feelings, it’s like doing a photo in a black room, it takes time to develop it, it takes time for the feelings to settle and know what face we have when we think of an ex. It’s rare that we want to hold them in our arms. 

If the person you’ve loved won’t love you back, why would someone else do?

Thinking of Brian makes it even worse, as he was pretty much the only boyfriend I’ve properly had through years with the loudest of arguments and even a few fights, but he’d always be there with his hand on my back, stroking and I had then known that he wouldn’t have left, but he did because I just ended up not standing anything

and if he were to return

would I welcome him with open arms as well? And had he forgotten? Was he also the one who moved on and I was left alone with wine and lying on the kitchen, sobbing that there was no one left? And Valentine replying to plain text of how was she seemed nothing that I even wanted to check until morning and when a thought gets planted in your head, that’s when you desert everything because you have hope that tomorrow will be better or that the minor dream death will be enough that not knowing yourself for a few hours will make you want to come back from fighting dragons and enormous spiders, because nothing changes and it becomes so because there is truly no other way.

And it had been odd to even think of two people, like Brian smoking outside, leaning over the balcony and pointing at a bicycle at 2 a.m. in the morning, causing him to smile. He told me that whenever he’d see some bloke riding off in the night, in a car, they were most likely on Grindr scoring a shag and seeing a bicycle under the rain had made both of us laugh and the next day on the same balcony I had told Miles, back when his hair was longer and he resembled some lost Beatles fan, the fringe slowly starting to cover his eyes that I nagged to him to let me cut it and he’d tell me to piss off. Maybe we have more than one love story because we fuck up oh so many, so it becomes like a game of monopoly you have too many chances to win and you end up fucking them all up to a nine year old you.


I'm rather tired and I've been awfully depressed so it had been harder for me to write and it was awfully anxious to kind of sit down and write properly a big chunk and binge, so yeah. I've been trying and yeah, I finished off this chapter and started the next (or will post the big chunk here, Callie is reading said chunk and I'm waiting for her expertise xD because I'm tired and it's a good chunk). I think the story kind of follows my usual dual thinking when it comes to love these days and it's odd because I'm a rather privative person and I might even speak more in stories and in backstories, so rather often I'd just take this story to kill my own feelings and I kind of really explore Miles/Jamie's platonic relationship and it's falling? It's not really falling, but kind of falling out and confusion because sometimes you just don't talk and that's what I wanted to address as Jamie/Miles kind of become the backstory to the universe (and speaking of all of this I feel like No. 1 Party Anthem which I think I'll do tomorrow xD I missed them too much but I had a bit left here and I was dying to finish it off xD) and it kind of comes a bit personal and I am harsh when it comes to things and kind of when you feel down I guess I do become thankful for the people which I've build friendships recently and they do mean a lot to me. But of course some become with blurred lines like where do they go, so I explore that really and it's been a recent theme in my stories. I think in general I've been kind of going deep on reconcilation again and what ifs in all ways really, because you don't always find someone at the first time right away. 

(Okay, it's been decided, the next chunk is for the next chapter so I'll keep my mouth shut on spoilers xD)

I think the blurred Miles and Brian kind of come from the sole belief that you fall in love with the same type of people or similiar ones since like looking back there's traits which obviously drag me to people so it kind of plays with that, like I have to think carefully which memory suits better Miles or Brian. But also kind of consider that they also blur a bit with Jamie's mental state and etc. Also, I'm very very flattered that this story is loved because it's such a melancholic loneliness anthem which is No. 1 Party Anthem's back story and backbone really. 

The hug scene like reading now and I think when I read it was inspired by actually a creep which was hitting on me years ago, he kept pestering me and I recall how he had just kept creeping me out by demanding why hadn't I texted back to which my mother stated why don't I use him since you can have a boyfriend and still have some blokes which you play with and I remember being so revolted and disgusted and that kind of left a memory on me, because on one side I had the said creep and kind of the female side I had someone who'd openly use them, so yeah. And the hug scene was because I had hugged him bye to piss off and I remember I got told I shouldn't have done it. Anyway, it was interesting.

When I get manic I actually rip paper into small pieces, so I had used that here. I kind of like talking of bipolar here openly.

The odd Russian song is actually something rather known, Callie had been either humming or singing it and I was just depressed and a bit heartbroken and I ended up writing about it. So yeah, you can check it out but when I was growing up I always loved it for it's story telling and I really summed up my feelings about it there.

I get very depressed and I just want the credits to roll because I want everything to be calm, some usual routine instead of roller coasters. 

To be honest, I've been awfully depressed and rereading it is rather heavy and portrays everything and more openly than I would in a backstory. 

I always think cars at night mean Grindr and I actually saw a bike guy so me and Callie joked on that.

I hope you enjoyed it and if you did, it means the world to me if you tell me that because I've been rather down and torn from reality

Thank you



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