Seeing Jack again and that :\

Forward

Have you ever had that feeling when something happens, of which could be anything, that makes you suddenly realise completely everything you have lost, and aughtomatically you compared the way you felt when you had it to the way you feel now it is gone. The loss creates a creater within you that takes out most of all you are, and it is when you physically feel that it is gone that you know instantly you will always need and be in search of regainment of what you have lost, no matter what happens or how long it takes.
This is a distilled reality of how i live, and is every so often brought more clearly and brutally to my awareness whenever i catch sight of him or hear his name mentioned, see his name come up on messenger or see someone who slightly reassembles him. It tears me apart, but it is beautiful because of it. Without that emptiness and pain i wouldn't have any meaning as a whole. Despite the pain of the loss, it has taught me more than i could ever know about people, love, reality, and what it is in comparison to how people want to think and try to believe. It's true what they say when they say that you have no idea untill you yourself have had the experience. Untill you, and you alone, have lived, breathed, and felt the reality of it embrace throughout you. Those words are entirely true, in all their entity.





Rainy Night In Soho The Second (? :)

I remember the time that i was all prepared to meet with him again for the first time in a while. How let down i was when the bus failed to arrive and how the feeling of being utterly crushed had gradually come upon me, as well as the horrific realization of it. Many could have said it was a mere over reaction. I may have been easily seen through the eyes and there for judgement of another. But to any other it could never have meant so much to be there, to be with him again, to feel him, see him, witness him with my very eyes in all his existance. Just to hear him talk, smell his scent, however odorous. It was all familiar to my memory, and to know it was not enough. It was torture, infact, to know the thing's of which took position of sustainment of your spirit, and not be physically immensed in it every so often, for real, and apart from memory. Memories are not enough, even if they were glorious in their fulfillment, and beautiful in their sorrow of ending and exposure. I just remember that i often find myself alone. Smothered in welcomed darkness. Saying, softly, that all i want, is just to know you. And what a pitiful truth it has turned out to be, for i don't know you. Not in the flesh, openinly. Our approaches and bodily communication with each other has all been based on what we prosume one another is thinking. We knly seem to know each other when we both know the definite of what one another wants. We are both sure that the other wants to walk one way when the turning comes, we are both sure that both of us wants to watch the television, sleep or go home. We both know when we both want to fuck each other. A shared distinction, recognised within reflection of one to the other, twin knowledge, a natural occurance. That is the familiarisation we share with each other outwardly, but beneath the exteriors, we are hiding the truth we restrain from each other from communicating with. We fear of baring ourselfs, because a barrier has been left unbroken, for some reason. But these truths can see each other immensely, they long to touch, and bond and develop the eternal binding that will secure our knowing of each other completely. Just to express our innerly recognition, suspicians, of each other. Just to know, each other, on the exterior, as we do, beneath our witheld shelters.
I am seeeing him today. Last time something held me back, restrained me from rejoining with the former assosiate of which he is, free to the possibility of reconciliation. It won't have turned out how it did when i went to see him at the library. I wouldn't have gone otherwise, i couldn't have dealt with that kind of regection again, but now, i'll see him in the body. I'll hear the clear sound of his voice, feel his warm breath, and experience the vision of his braod familiar body, his face, all of which feautures i fell deeply in love with in that typical yet distrought way. That of which has suffered me mercilessly amongst the many days afterwards of which have commenced since. I dread the further ones to come, but i know it is beautiful, and will be all the more immaculate in all it's saddening existance by the arrival of which will climax it all.
The bus came this time. I had my doubts that it would show, and yet on the journey i sat at the end, my hood up, head against the window gaping out into an aimless black surrounding of passage, accompanied by the familiar reflection i bestowed, with all my make up and accesories to ignite my self esteem and popularity concerning those i may approach.
I knew he'd be alone. I sensed it outrightly from the moment i stepped into the dark, bleak town that was drenched in the scattering rain that refused to subtle itself since the early morning.
It could easily have been that very last night we spent in each others ownage of one another. The last night we had experienced each other bodily and emotionally. The boundries had weakened that night, heavy with the weight of my persistance of honesty, and the recent history we had equally shared of each other.
I rang him, and there was his voice again. Sevvered and distrought, although i knew it was the flickery reception and my altered hearing sense, disfigured slightly by the alcohol consumed. I never dared have told him of what i'd done. Not that i'd consider it that dreadful, considering how excruciatingly difficult it was for me to be around him. Yet, i was still unsure of weather he had any awarenes of this, even now, after all this time.
It was a relief, however, to find myself able to speak to him in what i considered a 'normal' way, of which was impossible in a casual sober state of mind.
We met up ten minutes later, beyond the streets and at the other end of town. I stood against The Archers side wall with the calming fag bared never far from my lips, not long to witness the approach of him on his discreet journey across the road after waiting for the traffic to form a gap. It was in the road that i noticed him, and i watched him closely all th while recognising his facial structure, his length and his height, his hair. Everything of him, once again i could bare unfleeted eyes upon, witness his beauty identified only by me. All of him as a whole, here, with me. Coming to see me. The only thing that would make me happy.
Aswell as this, my mind was intensely aware of the level of darkness and strength of the bleak weather surrounded, of which tinted most of my attention from focusing on him completely in all awareness.
He stood over by me, and i monoovered from my settled position against the wall, prepared and ready to open my mouth and begin walking.
''Do you know where we're going?'' He spoke from the bent head beneath his hood.
It seemed my eager smile was stimulating his positive expression, of which i noticed on him beside me as we walked down the high street, and was releived.
''Really, i have no idea'' I replied, although i did have the general idea that we were headed to some sort of shelter adopted or borrowed by him.
''Sasha's flat''
I glanced at him and blinked for a moment, yet walked on despite the suprise of it.
''I thought you'd be with someone, i'm glad your not''
''Get me all to yourself'' He suggested, leaving me unaware of weather he said it in hope or in arrogance.
''No'' I replied quickly, frightened he had assumed i was attempting to suggest something. Although the alcohol had adjustered the paronoia, every detailed aspect mattered, as it atlerated the atmosphere, and that alterated us. I couldn't bear the thought of convincing him i had the expectations of last time. ''No it's just you seem to be going around with Steph and her sister a lot lately. Like, whenever i see you''
''Like fuck i am. Can't stand the stupid cow, never could. Can't believe you put up with her for so long, she's a nut''
''So you never tried to sleep with her''
He narrowed his eyebrows and twisted his lip, embracing me with a quick glance of exxagerated revolt.
''I'd rather sip on goats puss''
I nodded, agreeably, though not in the disfavour of my friend. I knew he was putting it on for me. I flicked the hair stands caught in my lashes, sighing a little. He looked enquiringly down at my cigarette, and asked if he could spare one. It's funnyy how this is such a common communication line amongst youths. The shamelessness of questioning weather a cigarette may b offerable from me to you. I doubt we know how popular this has become.
''Did she mention, about how long we'd known each other?''
He pressed his eyes on me withdrawably for a second, displaying a side grin, a much missed familiarity of which he often produced in the early day's of our dateship.
''No'' He answered ''you did ya' daft cunt''
My mouth persed itself together, having remembering former conversations.
''Okay, yeah, i remember i did now''
A comfortable break mid conversation then immensed as we came closer to the bridge, me detecting his concentration of direction whilst also sensing, with much gratiance, his will to speak to me, also.
''So who you going about with nowadays then?''
I thought through all the times we had become aware of each other in the street. I was on the rebound, he was attempting his streetly act with his crew, thinking people would find him to be the business. I remember us catching each others eye, and him baring that resentment in his, simply to accompany the intensity of mine. Perhaps there had been resentment between us there, but it had been since lost to now throughout the healing passage and of time, it would appear. How incredibly sexual it had been, to know that the two of us having been so enticingly close to one another, gaining that much pleasure from one anothers physical form and mindly empowerment, had suddenly resorted to a shared hatred of one another, in some form.
''Well don't you see who i'm with when i'm in town?''
''No. I never see you, aint' seen you in ages''
I side grinned the way he had, making sure he wasn't witnessing it although it was likely easily sensed.
''Miss me much then?'' I asked a little humorously.
He paused for a moment, bowing his head a slight and blinking with lack of focus.
''Wouldn't wanna' say. Honesty doesn't match my hoody''
I smiled, knowing he hadn't meant that to be any sort of official remark. His way of coping with an uncertain question, no matter how casually put, was dignifying it with the art of his own humor.
I looked about, feeling the sharpness of the rain peircing the back of my coat.
''Pissing weather, innit''
It had been something i had pathetically been planning on remarking on, but it was uneasing, despite not feeling the cold to obviously at this point. I assumed it was due to the activation of hormones or concentration or somewhat.
''Yep.'' He smiled, mildly embracing within a silenced walk ''You look nice''
I knew from his tone of voice that it was simply another one of his conversational points he foreplaced oftenly, but i hoped that it had been specific all the same. Even i wasn't blind enough to know instantly this was close to all i needed to hear.
''Thank you'' I spoke defiantly in response.
He glanced down at me, lightly laughing under under his breath.
''You've changed''
''You always think that. But i'v never changed once''
He raised his eyebrows and continues to walk on broadly, his vision set directly ahead.
''Probably just your attitude then. Alterates your appearance.''
We approached, what i sensed, was Sasha's dads flat, or something of the sort. It was definitely somehwere i recognised, and i was sure i'd been here before, or a flat like it. It may have been one of the others which were identical to it, to see someone els who lived on this estate.
He unlocked the ground door and flew up a flight of stairs untill i pondered discreetly behind a foot or two, reluctant to bolt for it the way he had.
''Fine, walk then'' He commented, sarcastically. I tutted, muttering something about how i would 'happily' do just that.
''Through here'' He told me at the door to the flat, standing at the side to clear a space of which i would enter into. What a gent he had always been. As i passed him i inhaled his scent unintentionally. I recognised it instantly as it came and felt my innerly passage weaken. A memory temporarily flourished to my observance. An inner smile, discreet despite unseen, was produced. Hidden from his attention, as he would not understand why.
I admired the dew containings of this bare flat as i walked gradually in. Jack closed the door and locked it, hurriedly continuing past me and into the sitting room. It was very basic, with a dirty odour of cigarette butts and burnt toast, possibly drain leakage. There were only four rooms, the sitting room, kitchen, toilet and bedroom. Jack sat down on the couch and switched on the tv. I walked on through into this mildly lit room, sitting myself contently down beside him. It was a releif to not feel awkward or uneasy at all, or have the discomfort of having to deal with how he would act towards me had his friends been present. It was us alone, and this time there was no awkward tension of either of us wanting to express our thought's to the other but unable to do so.
Now as we sat side by side of one another, once again, i felt nothing but glad. A satisfaction of which i knew extended no further was complete at a time when i could sit with him at ease without responsibility of disturbances such as friends or parents complicating our connection. Now i remembered how intense it was to merely be in the prescence of him, and i was assured all the more to complete certainty that nothing and no one was able to compete with him. He was all, the all i needed.
I tried hard to concentrate on the programme we were watching, some american comedy drama i'd seen occasionally on at the early hour i was used to arising at for the start of college. Occasionally we glanced at eac other, made various facial and bodily gestures that indicated our comfort to one another and the enjoyment experienced in each others prescence sitting there and watching the programme. All the time our body language progressed, occasionally commenting humorously on the programme and every now and then on how we were both coping in our personal lifes of late and what we were up to.
At one point towards the end of the show he questined me to weather i was 'seeing' anyone at the moment, like he had done last time. I knew not to expect anything from him asking this, as it could have meant anything knowing him, and merely replied an answer leaving him assured to the possibility that i had been occupied reasonably since our split. He answered to a similar notion when i asked the same, although admitted, when i'd exeeded the question a little, that he had exaggerated slightly of the conquests he had claimed to have accomplished the night we shared a long conversation on the phone. He only revealed this because i clearly appeared to be having a weakening effect on him, but i knew from his body language out of the corner of my eye that he was still in an empowering mode.
He seemed fairly relaxed. It was perhaps because i was less paronoid than normal. His head leaned minorly to the side as he rested it on the back of the sofa.
''You know when we were together''
I looked at him seriously for a moment and blinked whilst looking him over, then nodded visibly for him to see.
He paused, and for a minute i wondered weather he awknowledged my response. Then he asked, rather more murmorously this time, ''Did you like it?
Again, for a moment, the possibility occured to me. The possibility that he was not at all absorbed by the tv programme we were watching, and that all he could think of right now was me and us, if ever there was.
Was he curious?
''I liked it, but -'' I paused, stalled on the uncertainty of how to continue what i had meant to say.
He eyed me supersticiously, ''What?''
''I didn't think, that - i didn't think that you were - well, into me, much'' I tried to say, not sure if it was sounded as self assured enough as i'd have liked.
He raised an eyebrow slightly, eyes fixed on the tv still.
''Well i thought you were off with me''
''No, i wasn't'' I said insistantly, turning to face him again of which he did also with me. Both os us repeatedly facing each other then retrieving back to the tv, what was really meant to be said?
''I'm just, naturally shy''
I displayed a glint of the eye and he grinned in humorous response before once again turning to the face the tv.
Barely a little beyond this point i unzipped my coat and leaned back on it on the sofa. A couple of moments after that Jack took it from behind me and placed it on the ground, then after a brief moment of diverting his absorbing eyes to the ground, his beautiful lashes visibly displayed to my longing attention, he gave me that hostile content look he always used to bestow me with when in progression of getting a point across. Then came the side grin, but subtly. I weakened essesively inside, although it was numb from the alcohol.

He folded his arms, rubbing something away from his eye.
''It was a bit cramped when my mates were around''
This i agreed with, how on many an occasion i'd noticed the huge difference in his behavior when his friends came into it compared to when we alone. He'd become defensive and hard up, without obligation of hesitating to put me or anyone els down to big up his credit. HIs reputational intimidation scared me, making me want him all the more, but i felt retracted from him somehow, overshadowed and unable to compete to his perfectly intuned social front. Now as we spoke of it it all sounded so simple put, it would have been humorous if it hadn't have broken me.
''How do you mean?''
''Well'' He paused, looking momentarily thoughtful ''Thats why last time turned out the way it did. Cause' they all showed up''
''But, why were you like that with me just cause they were there?'' I asked, still in wonderment of an actual reason.
''Dunno, peer preassure, innit''
He smiled shyly over at me with a vibe of bigged up remorse, of which i joyously returned to him after a mild sarcastic grimace, if just to define that he was forgiven. I loved they way were were in perfect communicational syn with one another. He even asked me at one point if i had been drinking, of which i was careful to reply with an insistant no, no matter how dismissant and easy feeling i had become from it. I reminded myself that i couldn't be to honest with him. I just wouldn't work that way.
We had another long break of speech as we absorbed the programme before us. The carriage carrying us along the road of boundry grating.
''So have you missed me much?''
My former question, he had outfaced it and was now using it to entrap the truth from me. Even if i somehow came up with an amusing reply with hope of disguising the honest answer, it would fail, for the answer was undoubtedly laid in my face for always.
''Yep''
He then grinned fully, but not in a prude cocky manner, and enclosed his arm around me as we sat, every other second looking down at m, drawing cloer to my face, my neck falling my eyes deeper into his beautiful face.
Before either of us knew it we were embracing in a slow and intense clinch of kisses. I felt his desire to have me inside his mouth, his tongue, his need and raw enlocked desperacy to take me all for his own, his true conquest, his lost weakness. Our hands connected and he combined his fingers throughout mine. I felt instantly my passions igniting, heating with want, with an equal desperacy to match his. The rush of weakness conquered my stomach and unabled me to contain the unwanted sense of control. Just to be in his arms again, to have him touch me the way he had done and for me to be able to do the same back to him with no restrictions and cutting out the spacing history between us, was enticing beyond words i was able to define. I'd longed to touch this skin, to feel this breath. I had to have him, even if it was just for one moment. He was going to be all mine, and i alone was all his. Unconditionally, completely, and defiant of all distraction. If only for this moment, it was going to happen.
By the time he had vigolrously endorsed himself upon me on the sofa he began to stand up, without letting go of my hand. He guided me up, grinning shamelessly and hungrily into my eyes, leading me out of the sitting room, on into the bedroom. I welled up with adrenalized fear inside, frightened a little but in no possible way was i hesitant to oblige to his intentions. I wanted him just as much, was eager and yearning, hungry for him just as sharply if not more so.
He took me in his arms once again, holding my body against him with the strength he contained, welling himself unto me forcefully and with complete desire. I embraced him with my clinging arms, falling further backwards untill i collapsed against the bed, his body hot and clenched trighly over against mine. The whole time his tongue was plunged into my mouth, and i felt the sweat of him amongst his intensity and impatience to take me in whole, the fresh scent that i had greatly missed, here, enticed within it graciously as i held onto him with every ounce of love contained within me that was for him alone.
He retracted, kneeling up on the bed to remove his shirt and unbuttom his pant's. I saw his body, his six pack, remembering the feeling of how much i'd craved and impressively admired his build the first time. All i wanted to do was implant my hands against his skin and run my fingers throughout his body of that i had longed and missed for to long.
By this time i had slipped my shoes of onto the floor and was halfway to pulling off my drainpipes, and now i sat up in mere eagerness to remove my shirt, and get straight back into the procession.
He leaned down upon me, smiling with a burning eagerness in his eyes, running his sight up and down my chest and body, implanting his mouth deeply upon mine again, streaming his hands up and around my body untill he had found and unhooked my bra. I shut my eyes, breathing deeply and holding him by his back shaulders forcefully. He tossed the bra onto the floor somehwere and continued the pressive suculant kisses down my neck and chest and onto my breasts, encircling my nipples deeply with his tongue whilst i nocked my head back, my hands rubbing around his neck and through his hair. By the time he was done he looked at me with the same desiring eyes that displayed all his desperacy to be inside me even more, and he leaned over to his cupboard before pulling out what i had guessed was a condom.
''Just one thing'' He mutteringly grinned, correcting my suspicians.
I giggled, bit my lip, tried effortlessly to look playfully menacing and seductive as he put it on. It didn't take long, and as soon as it was done he was all to quick to rerurn back to his former poise enclosed upon me, only now, he looked cherishingly into my face as he drew closer to it. His sweet hot breath panted against my cheeks, and his bottom lip quivvered the way i remembered. I couldn't definely relate to his uncertainly vulnerable expression at this point, only knowing with no doubt that by now he was ravishing me to the utmost intensity, to the point of which he could no longer contain or hold back from at any expense no matter what. And oh, to have him cherish me so badly once again was the memory i pined pathetically in hope of, the fulfillment i lived for.
It was then that we completed our sudden exhibition, our gorging engaement of fire, our enticing and restorful reuinion. All the bitterness between us had been burnt by our lust and exitement, our distraction of the main aspect that glued us together uncontrollablly. Passion. What i used to propell, decide and direction my life with.
For a moment after he was done i held him close to me stilly, as thought feeding of the last part of closure and connection of him in this session. It's lasting was outlived soon after, as he then kissed me and sat back up structorously in his finalising of it. He questioned me over how good it was for me, had i enjoyed it, had i missed it.
I nuzzled my chin upon his shaulder from behind in feel of his bare body once more, and told him, in all honesty, that i had missed it much.
''But your a two minute man now i see''
He laughed, handing me my unerwear.
''You wore me out''
Now it was over i didn't retrieve back into the pit of darkness i usually subdued to once in departure of him. I knew it wouldn't end here, that i had left him craving for me somehow. I was convinced and assured within myself, and likened to the fact that i was now having this effect on him. The confidence had stimulated our interaction, and now he was propelled and ready for me. You could almost say i had him where i wanted him in some unexpected result, but it would not have made any sense, as i want him whenever and wherever he is bar none, and have known notoriously since the day i first saw him.
We cuddled on the sofa. I was entirely happy and relieved to have had him again, shared that closeness with him again, experienced the familiar feeling of being his the way i used to. We watched the tv and we laughed in each others company, commenting randomously on each others private life, his fingers entagled inside mine, all just like it had been before. And i wondered, silently, that translating through the smiles, beyond the joyous chatting and laughing at the randomest things, had the spell been broken? Was i now free? I wondered, most of all beneath all my acting up to secure his comfort, could he hurt me any longer? And already knew without a shadow of hesitation that the answer would eternally be, yes.
Even when i left, it was perfect. I felt oit was on my terms and he wasn't left within any preassure to get me to leave this time. He hadn't been gratified with the chance, not that i believe he was genuinely in any hurry to kick me out this time, despite having graciously recieved his tongihts intention.
''Come around again sometime'' He said with a suggestive allured expression whilst holding the door for me.
I felt myself laughing with gleee within, and raised my eyebrows as i turned around.
''Likely!'' I said, motioning quickly down the stairs. I looked back over at him just at midpoint down the stairway, and quickly darted back up, retrieving my former steps back over to the door where Jack still stood watching me. Gripping him loosely i pressed my mouth hungrily onto his with the force needed to sooth the last little eager yearnings of his physical touch. HIs mouth was warm and wet, and graciously recieving to my eager approach. HIs tongue encircled mine deep inside my mouth and i pulled him close to me briefly before once again retracting away from my one and only love and continuing my original ruite down the stairs of the flat base and out the door.

After The Break Up {box 2]

When i am captivated by lonliness
you can take me away
when the darkness immenses upon me
you can take me away
when i am lost in obscurity
you can take me away
when i am enlayed preciously inside your arms
you can take it all away






It doesn't make sense. Everything inside life hides the reality of it, because all around me i can see smiles and laughter, when there are truths alive and making themselves aware to me, truths that burn the disguise of happiness and expose me to the fully immensed experience of their wrath, their hateful reality of sadness and repression. That is the truth, that is a reality defined behind a disguise of joy that fakely surrounds me, tries effortlessly to fool me and can succeed by it's simplicity and through the longing that everyone contains for it which blinds them of the truth. No one wants to know what lies beneath, behind, throughout. All they want is the fantasy, the hope for peace and contemptment. Shutting out the darkness keeps them sane, and they are happy to see through all that will repress them to unhapiness, the closure of their peace, their detainment of their balance. I have been forced with reality for my ability to see. I have the will to see, there for, i have adapted to an awareness of all that is bad and all that is good. It's all defined by energy. Being ignorant is the true hell in my eyes, and i wouldn't want anything but stripped reality in all its dispair if that meant being capable of defining the truth, defining what's real. I hate the idea of barriors detatching us all from one another, barriers of lies that prevent us from rejoicing and combining within truth, for that is what can draw us together once again, and save us from the ignorance that contains us.
I want us to be together again. I don't want there to be anymore lies, or anything holding us back from each other. Unspoken words have drawn us apart from each other, and now i am lost in the ignorance that has eaten between us. I can't bare the feeling of becoming further away from you, for that is what we are becoming to each other with every day. Strangers, more so with every moment we spend in silence. The distance between us growing uglier and more obvious in different and new ways. Pretending. I can't stand it, and i just want to run away.
I hoped you wouldnt see me this way. Weak, undefensive. Perhaps real. Perhaps more so than you will ever see me. I am sorry you had to see my reality.
And nothing will change, and everything keeps us apart. I love you. I want to run away.


This is the first day that me and you have spent officially broken up. I didn't realise or understand how unstable i actually was untill a considerable ammount of days later. This day i had a mixture of emotions simultaniously programing into my head, and these included relief, loss, anger, repression, betrayal, to name only a few. Relief was what i wanted to know i felt, for so good was the feeling of not being under the preassure of his approval, his grasp and his domination, expectancy to be exactly the way he wanted me to be siply for the fear of losing him any more. Knowing that i didn't have to obide to that expectancy any longer was a huge releif and felt calming inside me. Loss. Clearly the loss of the person i'd given everything to, including my virginity, and even though he was unaware of all i had given to him, i had still lost the person i'd given everything to, and there for i'd lost everything. I didn't care about what i'd given to him and had now lost, for the biggest loss of all was him alone. No longer was he mine, and i had lost him. Everything i felt for him now had no meaning purpose to exist without him to match it, only to exist alone and presently denied by me. I was so overcome by anger that i was reluctant to admit to myself the feelings i contained for him, for the persistancy that he was unworthy and undeserving of anything i did feel. I was angry that those feeling's were there for him, and so i denied that at this point, even though i knew beneath my current anger i was glad they they had been for him and not someone els.
Repressed was the love i didn't want to accept that i felt. That i denied, and lied to myself of containing for now of all times i didn't want to face up to my own distinct reality despite knowing it very well.
The sense of betrayal was nearly as immense as the love. I cannot speak any further of it than that alone, and i don't wish to now.
This day was the first in a following of many. Many of which i was depressed and filled with an illusional hate which i sometimes believed was actual. I was empty, and felt meaningless and inexistant. It was like i wasn't there anymore, that i had been placed somewhere and forgotten about and everything els had continued to progress without me, into the distance and out of sight.

i woke up. Remembering everything that had happened, i immediately sunk into a mental pitt of distraction from the world, and the more i awoke and felt the peices shifting back into place within my memory, the more hollow and pointless myself and everything els became. The feeling i had was worse than depression, beyond help or curing. Simply not wanting to live, not wanting to breathe. Resenting my own capability to breathe, was what i felt. To have all aspect of living and awareness removed right now would have been a favor, something that would help me survive. But to live, was to be dead at this point. Not to live, was how to survive at this point. You see, none of it made sense. I'd never felt that way about someone before, but now the feeling of having lost him was something i knew abseloutly for definite straight away without a doubt, was something i had certainly never felt before. This was how i became certain, even more so than before, that i loved him. Even though, as i've said, i was utterly relectant to admit this to myself just then throughout all the anger i felt. Just thinking about him with her made me want to be sick, to kill myself, to take my own life. I actually wanted to take my own life through the sheer disgust i experienced of the thought of them together. Holding hands, kissing. Had he kissed her the way he kissed me? I thought that was special, i thought that i had meant something different to him. Would he have taken her into the woods the way he had done with me? Would he be offering her his coat and cuddling her from behind the tender way he had done with me? Had he taken her to his house and introduced her to Greg and Sasha, had they all hung out at night and had he snook her in when all the adults were asleep, like he had done with me? The worst thing i could possibly think of was him telling her she was special, that he loved her. I trembled with horror at the thought. With the grief of loss, and with pure unrefined jelousy which was stronger than my imposed hate for him. More than anything or anyone i hated her, beyond belief or all definition of words. I so badly wanted to kill her, to hurt her the way she'd hurt me, and him as well, but mainly her. Taking away the most preciaous thing in the world from me, the person i loved more than i could ever understand. He had been everything to me, and that monster had interviened in what we had and stolen him away from me, from wanting me and caring for being with me. Little did i want to understand that it had happened because of what he didn't feel for me and ultimately there wasn't any other relevant reason than that, no matter what she had done. It wouldnt have mattered about her involvment either way, because the way he felt about me was definite from the start, and could not have been changed or modified no matter how much i felt for him.
I found drinking as a patheticly neccasary solution to my uncontemptment, a morphne to my slashings. It didn't work, as i didn't have enough of it and the effect was temporary. I detatched myself from the world for the next few days, wondering off thoughtlessly, uncaring to the awareness or reation of those around me involved in my life, and didn't much care what i did or where i went, as long as i wasn't still, as long as i was constantly moving myself, weighing out the pain from the distillment of doing nothing, which was a liklier option now i was no longer attatched to anyone. Now i was alone. I wanted to cry each time the thought occured to me, that i was alone. It horrofied me, made me want to go mad. But it wasn't necasserily the idea of having no one, but the idea of not having him. I always knew, no matter what, when we were together, that despite everything we were going through, and how uncomfortable, confusing or unfortunate thing's were, we were together, and that was all that mattered, all i could hold on to. Now, although it was a releif not to have the preassure of him, i had nothing to hold onto, nothing to love, but only to look on at and long for, lovingly and regretfully, with the horrific combinment of hate and love devouring me furtherly each and every moment of my days from now on.
Nothing helped. I tried imagining myself as having learned a lesson from my experiences from him. I tried to see myself as having become a better and more improved person, having supposedly seen the error of my ways. I was never to be that dependant on someones love again, and was from now on a person of my own. I wanted to belong to myself. Reforming my identity to extent of which possible was a way of dealing with what had happened. In no way did it come close to heal me, but it plastered the wounds and gave a me a sense of perspective, a new purpose, and an alternative to the rebirth from the old me, the me that had done everything the wrong way in that relationship.
This new woman was Amelie, the serious confident reformed character that was to prove that she didn't need to depend or rely on anything to be something. I dressed diferently, i spoke differently, more confidently, and i looked on myself with more respect. I was 'above' Jack, and his pathetic behavior, and was supremely embarassed about any involvment with him. This was only the impression i was portraying, for i knew without a doubt it was irritate him, especially when i returned into town with Steph, ran into Sasha and all three of us came up with the amazing idea of publicly humiliating him. The perfect, satisfactory revenge to cure my resentful emotions towards him, and ease the hurt of betrayal he had inflicted upon me.
Sasha broadened her devious expression, and turned to me whilst gracefully flicking her hair from her face.
''Got a pen on you?'' She asked, with a impossable grin that suggested she had some sort of plan in mind.
''What the hell do you want a pen for out on the street?'' Steph asked, climbing up onto a bench, ''Let's stick here for a bit, i'm sick of walking around'' She sighed heavily and slumped, enlaying herself across more than half the bench. I hopped onto the head of it, perching myself on the edge. I remembered Steph's mini assignment marker in her back jean pocket, and nipped a hand in quickly before she sat back on her arse.
''Oi!'' She yelled, rather to suprisedly. I ignored her yelps and handed the marker to Sash.
I then looked at her suspersticiously, ''What did you want it for?''
Sasha rasied a slanted eyebrow, and removed the lid, ''You'll see''
She then took out a flip up notepad from her handbag and started tearing off shreads
''What are you going to write?'' I questioned, furtherly curious by this point as she was being unnusually quiet.
Sasha then laughed deviously, then licked her lips and looked at me, ''What was it you said about Jack before''
''Erm'' I began, thinking through previous remarks for a breif moment, ''That he was crap in bed?''
Sasha nocked her head back in laughter, and i couldn't help but grin in satifyable justice. Steph glared on in disgust.
''And?'' Sasha asked again, this time even more mischievably, the pen held to the very edge of the paper.
''That i was the first girl he ever slept with?'' I replied
''Because his first shag ever was probably a fucking sheep'' Steph muttered, staring blankly into the opposite wall.
Me and Sasha repented into a fit of laughter.
''Abseloutly'' Sasha agreed, then began to write something with the marker.
I looked over, intruiged and eager to know what her plan was. As soon as i had seen her completed peice of literature i knew instantly that we had both sunken to extremely immature depths, possibly worse than his. Either way the prospect seemed temptuously hilarious, and, just as i mentioned earlier, ideally just.

drafts

Ludo has it to, but handles it crapper due to the lack of knowledge needed by intelligence. Jack was clever in how he dealt with it. He contained it, restored it in confined areas he rarely touched so that it would be even more raw, even more malliciouslly energised once he used it as a resortion to master manipulation over the world of which those who did harm to him came from. Oblvious and unobservant to the concept of striking a threat to innocent victims. He likely thrived on it, above way above that self detesting sorrow for those lambs to the slaughter.

his life had been infected, poisened by people. The people from life. Life from the people. All infectious and bitterly suffered from to this day. This day to which he was condemed for his past, sentenced to revel in inflicted poisen, gorwing and obsculating into every twist and turn of his life , twisting his character, alterating his nature. The distraction of condemment. Only it had been the condement of Amelie, and nothing more

my arms, which longed for the return of Jack. His arms, which discarded the rearrival of Amelie. Shameful obscene fantasies of me being his mother, of him being my father, another life andother planet. Anythign but the planet we were on, the one that demanded and judged us from the worst of us at the same time, amking it impossible to live in simplicit contemptment, but yet if it were so then life would be rational and ordinary and perhaps not alivened and empowered enough by the almighty stimulation only produced by vacarious life altering emotions that essentially included such horrors as fear and hatred. I will never understand untill i have observed it all, yet when will i know when that will be? When enough is enough and it is time to place a judgement based on the earthly instinct of what everything is and why it is an d how it happened to me? The lower half of me wants to stay naive and innocent, oblivious to certain aspects of reality because there is dangerous terratory that once tread on cannot be restepped back into oblivion, to be guarded and protected from the risk of being devoured by the power of knowledge which can at times be the most diffucult terror to master.


so he has been sentenced. Condemed, to a life of the distraction of it


Gone are the days of which you took pride in me, desired me and took pleasure from my presence, now you use it and take it for granted. It is of no value to you anymore













So let me get what i want
fill the spaces
with your body
with your will to see
you'll never look back
you'll know i'm your entity
just as muvh as you are mine



Why darkness encloses each day




Steph looks into me and doesn't know what to think, how to feel. I can see in the reflection that the reason for her emotional infliction is from the person she bestows her sight upon this moment. I can barely face the rest of the room. Theyre all looking, all feasting the volume of their awareness at my prescence, their enthralling hate, burning through my body, all over and throughout and inside all i am. Like they can see, like i am naked, and they ditect every single thought, feeling, emotion, within me.
and i don't want to believe this is real. I don't want to believe a thing, and do i?
Commandment; though shalt not lie to ones self to proect ones heart
There is no heart, so i don't have to feel guilty for not caring.
Only, i do feel guilty. I know i have a heart, otherwise it would not have been possible to feel the way i had done, do, about that one person. It was not nothing i had felt broken, feel, once he was gone.

Your there.

There
you,

go.

So i feel guilty for trying to justify my actions to protect my feelings against the reaction and judgement of those who i affected with my actions, and for being so ignorant as to convince myself it was something i was capable of. But i am capable of comitting the crime, and this i now know. This i now know of myself.

Your are there.

There for
you,

are.


Katrina looked down overcome with what would seem the utmost insecurity and doubt of her own judgement, only to retrieve her head and eyes back to their former positions after a few distant xseconds, only she held them bolder and more challenging this time, her eyes sterdier and enticing, enfuelled with confidence and certainty that bestowed intimidation of some sort upon me in an immense way. It almost sort me of balance a little, and i lost glance upon her within my own self doubt and the intensity of her eyes that felt like they had torched a fire inside my stomach, that made me feel asthough i had learned nothing of my sixteen years of life and had reason to arise question of uncertainty of my own capability. I surely did not understand all i thought i did, as i had thought so untill this very moment, and now i knew that all i judged viewed around me was continuously enhanced by my own subconscious questioning, comparison with similar aspects experienced and knowledge contained of which i had formerly judged of my own accord. But now i witnessed that coldly certain knowledge of which i knew instantly was real, that nothing was what it seemed. That only the emotionons and mentalities i was consciously unaware of were what took a heavy part in my perception of all that surrounded me, all i was uncertain of.
She may have known.
''I wish it was possible for me to give you what you need''
I swallowed, and murmered into the space between us, ''Perhaps you can''
She arised a vulnerable questioning glance, which seemed somehow sure at the same time.
''How?''
Asthough she was in control of her own understandment.
''All you need to do is be here''
''As your tutor''
I sighed lightly, although all was not enlayed from my heart. It remained heavy and unspoken, the way it always had been.
''Yes''
I set my eyes downward for a moment, and scattered their implantment ruitlessly across the lower section of the room. My head remained on a tilt, unhinged.
''Or as your fineral directer''
My lashes flickered instantly. I stared at her.
''What?''
''A discreet way to put it. To be there when you fall. To hold out my arms to you as an alternative to revive your identity you withold in this realm and escape your entrappment into another''
I smiled limply, tempted to exeed the verge of tears of relief.
''Who know's. Perhaps you really do see me clearer than i see myself''
''Perhaps.'' She spoke in reply, softly, before releasing a gentle sigh ''Perhaps it was a myth.''


why do i wear black so much? im no goth, so why
i think ur intelligent enough to know why you wear black
Well, yes, but, there's a time and a place for wearing black right, and all of the time isnt it
for like, a funeral?
(stress)
funerals are the worst thing in the world. I went to one when i was seven, and it was horrorble. Felt nothing of it but depression.
But . .
something as strongly emotional and symbolic as a funeral, just seems, like something of that extent of power, can be,
can be
theres no way of saying it without feeling guilty
romantic, poetically beautiful, the sorrowful sadness an artisticly empowering essence represented within a frame of dire beauty
(stares)
and how you see me closer than i see myself i continue to question
oh you know yourself, believe me Amelie. You just don't see yourself all to clearly, as although you are you and you are within yourself 24/7, you are bestowing your observance upon the rest of the world most of the time. Your just like anyone els, adapted to the progression of the world around you. Sometimes reluctant to foresee your own, sometimes blinded with the obsession of it, when it is most clearest




Self understanding
i sat in a welling comition of my own obscurity and experienced that rare intensity that can unrelish the most unnatainable sections of the emotional state. Unknown to what i had become or how the mood within the atmosphere had connected me into it without it being brought to my realisation, i felt asthough a rush of uncontrollable desire had emmersed and bled through me into real life, once again drawing the innerly state to the outer world. I had no desire to feel this, but somehow i had adjusted myself subconsciously as if i needed to feel it. It was intense and effective, stimulating, and i knew it was an urge. A biological instinct, like an infant needing it's mother and believing the entire world would come to a close if it were not to be held and lved there and then. I utmost intensity of craving a comforting and warming hand, reached across from somewhere i didn't know where to find it but of which my eyes would endlessly pondure for undoubtedly untill the urge came to a close, of which it soon did.
I still believe now that some inconcievable part of my mind had directed me deliberately to feel like this in that moment, just to bare the knoledge of weather i could do it intentionally and to gain the experience of having done it once i realised i could. If i can create myself to live inside that emotion with all the help of a little interaction with the atmosphere, then i am unstoppable at feeling anything. I often observe storylines in films and think the situation and emotions present in them, then thoroughly contemplate them later in bed when no one is around and there are no sounds. I often put myself inside the character if they are appealing to me, and i become what they are feeling, i adapt my mind into the state of theirs and become their thoughts, feelings and entity of all untill i could undoubtedly in that second become them altogether. Then, i am drawn into my own natural senses once agin and all instinction of that character is gone, and then i stop crying or smiling in harmonious joy at once, for i am me again, and i must feed and adapt to my own instincts and feelings, and continue my journey to not control, but understand, what i am.


i hope i never can control myself. I hope i can in time learn to interact and communicate with the truth i bare existant within myself. I hope you can always fend for me and be obliged to remain an attribute to the management and domination of me, for i need you to be master. I hope you never discover with full aknowledgment of our silent interaction of control, and i wish i didn't eternally feel obligated to the fulfillment of your demanding satisfaction.

THE FEELING OF LOSS
have you ever had that feeling when something happens, of which could be anything, that makes you suddenly realise completely everything you have lost, and aughtomatically you compared the way you felt when you had it to the way you feel now it is gone. The loss creates a creater within you that takes out most of all you are, and it is when you physically feel that it is gone that you know instantly you will always need and be in search of regainment of what you have lost, no matter what happens or how long it takes.
This is a distilled reality of how i live, and is every so often brought more clearly and brutally to my awareness whenever i catch sight of him or hear his name mentioned, see his name come up on messenger or see someone who slightly reassembles him. It tears me apart, but it is beautiful because of it. Without that emptiness and pain i wouldn't have any meaning as a whole. Despite the pain of the loss, it has taught me more than i could ever know about people, love, reality, and what it is in comparison to how people want to think and try to believe. It's true what they say when they say that you have no idea untill you yourself have had the experience. Untill you, and you alone, have lived, breathed, and felt the reality of it embrace throughout you. Those words are entirely true, in all their entity.



sexual stimulation through the ages

now when i compare myself to how i appeared in the childhood photgraphs i think how different i am. I always think of how much i have significantly changed throughout the last twelve months in particular, but in comparison to those many many years of which are now far behind me i have evolved much more effectively, only unlike the last year, i simply wasn't aware of it.
Some of those pictures seem quite innocent and meaningless. A few i look at closely because they have captured my attention as i look at what i am doing, where i am at and most importantly, how my eyes percieve themselves which can near to accurately define what is possibly being felt at the time of which it happened. I wonder what i thought about sex when i was little.
i know how i felt, i can now remember. I just thought it was something private and suggestive that adults did and children weren't allowed to know about it, yet.
It was the yet, that required my suspicians of the subject to aspire to immense extent.
I actually found it quite an ammusing thought. I knew what it was, but i didnt know exactly what happened beyond the undercover bare boildy contact part. To indulge furtherly beyond that was to complicated for my busy infant mind to be bothered with. The horrifying thing was, when i did eventually reach a certain age where i was capable of becoming sexually intruiged, without finding the thought repulsive as i did for a while, i wrote down all my desires in explicit roleplay mode on paper, promiscuous fan fiction of a particular tv series i was a fan of and which i'd witnessed a sexually promiscuous scene. I even had dreams about it because i was that fascinated by it. Neither did it help that i had a thing for the male occupant partaking in this scene i was so obsessed with. Never the less, mum found my 'notes' and after an entire day of fun loving pleasantry social activites 'arranged' for us by Sean, mum waited untill he had left the car to gather some petrol at the garage on the way home, turned to me as i sat innocently unnaware of her discovery and bestowed upon me the look that mothers give you when they know your secret.
Well, immediately she questioned where i had absorbed this type of information, clearly suprised that i was aware of so much, given the mass ammount of explicit detail i had implanted in the notes. I was embarassed and ashamed, insisting that they belonged to Steph and i had not even embraced an eye upon them. She reluctantly agreed to return them to me, and i found it difficult to look her in the eyes for a couple of weeks after that. I burnt the notes when i got home in a private bonfire on one of mum and Seans comissions to the pub. I agreed that from then on i would keep my desires locked away inside myself untill i was old enough and ready enough to act them out for myself, an accomplishment of which i was already intruigely yearning to persue, a fantasy plotted in the creativity of my intuitive mind untill it was time for it to be enticed into life by a fire merciless and aflame as the one i had incrusted those desires into in the first place.
I did write more suggestive fiction, but only stored away privately amongt many innocent writings on my computer when i moved to dads. One major advantage, hords of privacy.
But does a child, when it is really young, ever experience at any point even the slightest chemical of sexual stimulation? There were many times of which i believe it may have been possible that i was feeling something lead from or exeeded from that sort of ruite. It could have been something seperate i feel when experiencing sexual ignition but does not have a direct connection to it. Just something that comes with the ride, but is free from the courts of carrying deceptment to innocence. It makes me laugh, because now i don't see it all as dirty or sinful, the way i may have at the time when i wrote the notes, and the reason to why i felt so guilty when it was discovered. Believing it was bad as a child made me all the more curious to discovering the entity, the secret, of what sex was. I now know the beginners secret, but i don't believe i'v known half of what their is to be discovered through the experience in it's all. I know also that i choose not to perfect this act with anyone other than those i feel something for, of who i am attained and attracted to in some way other than physically based. Having known it with only the person i love undoubtedly to completion it is hard to imagine resorting to anything less from now on, but i know anything other than him would be less.







The start

Begins with how thing's are before meeting Jack, brief life description

A short descriptive thought and where she 'is'

One of her forthcoming trips to college from her first week with Steph shortly before she meet's Katrina [this is after their fall out but they have slightly drifted as friends]they become misguided and wander into a field and look into the clouds while eating burries, reflecting on their childhood excapades

Forward and Chapter one

FORWARD

So this was it. Our drugged up preassure based hormonally charged parody of a teenage romance. Everything a well brought up girl is supposed to hate, and expected to stand up for herself against. What wioth this being a enraging craefree unengaging formerly disturbed townie more mentally fucked than an amputated robot, yes, i understand, with appreciatance, why 99. 9 percent of the world which arent his friends, are genuinely worried for me. Oh and hell, it get's better. Not only are the minor facts that he is a fraud, theif and drug dealer, he also no longer bothers to maintain the pleasantary standards of treatment over me which he has been warned to by many of my friends of whom i am the mere object of concern for. Even some of his own, the ones who have clearly known him a little longer than myself, and there for are more adapt and adjust to the complexity and reality of his ways.
Oh God, since when has blatant arrogance, the constant expression of self gratifiance for almost every aspect of te world, including your 'bird', been charistacally attractive? In what way was the vicious spit in the gutter, the sharp boastful twist of a skateboard and the flip of a hood over a dark streetly melodic glare endorsed in even the slightest of a turn on? And when did the stinging wound of low self esteem reopened on a daily basis through throughtless unsensitive words direct from his mouth, that apparantly mean nothing, become such a self accepted majority of your time spent in his presence?
I assure myself that it is okay, that the shadowy tones that bring the voices at the endless space at the entirety of my mind to existance are no more than a casual meaningless result of paranoia, and that we are with each other, and that that is it . . .
But who am i trying to fool? The girl in the mirror is the girl who knows it. The boy who embraces me in his arms is the boy who is a monster. A sheer label for such a thing that he is, and for such a creature that the world looks down upon with the most deserved revolt.
He encourages his little boy lost image, his only source to any accomplishment of respect, gradually blessing strangers with the awareness of his sexually abused past, his cruelly rejectful adoptive parents in sick persute to claim their pity so he can use it against them as a guilt factor when he desires something in his own favor.
When fate throws you together with someone you have the fondest memory of being the strange but intruigely unusual boy with the cards you met with a friend once outside a little cafe, it fastly becomes an absorbment of the unspoken rush of hormonally defined ecstasy, and before you know it he is more blatantly aware of how far you fell in at the deep end than you are, for the truth lay within the eyes of the beholder, as once did a certain type of beauty that you longed would lay their again.
Through his hold over you he has the power to be exceptionally cruel, and with the cautious intelligence reflecting from his preserved mind upon his outer impression, he can do it. How innocent and tender, like a little rabbit blinded by the lights of it's own emerging doom i must have shook, grasped within his intensely violated arms, forcing myself to look into his hardened eyes that had distrusted so many others, even if it was just to see the existing hurt that they had all somehow been blind to, missed. He was wrong, messed up, calculating, uncompleted, but he was the most precious treasure i'd ever had the mind altering blessing of even being allowed to touch. He vividly imprinted himself upon the vulnerable heart i bared open to him and became the fluttering rush of weakness burried beneath my many hidden depths i'd protected from the world in all my years of living. Each day was born no longer into a basic flat out back to back sequence of regular horrorble empty life, but a moving heavily influenced darish stream of suggestive unpredictable horizans based within a portrait painted by him especially for me to place myself in and become accostom to and eventually live happily ever after inside, even though, immensed deep within myself, i panicked in my little smitted heart that happily ever after might mean fuck all nest week or even tomorrow. It's like building your own miniature universe in your head based on something that is easily capable of falling down and taking everything with it at any moment, but no matter how much you try and resist temptation you still find yourself adding thing's to your universe, making it bigger and more beautiful with extra colour. The burning truths devour me from within, but the ditestive thought keeps returning to my reassurance. This is that we are, infact an Item, and as long as that remains a solid dreaded truth, then the cheating, lying, put downs, manipulation and even the occasional moments of split hesitance in his video game coated bedroom fifteen miles away from his doting beloved, have got to be worth it.



Chapter One

My name is Amelie Scarlett Hornsby. I'm sixteen years of age.
At exactly this time tomorrow, i shall be lying head down upon the open road. A note i will hold in my hand devoutly will have slipped through a grid in the road without anyone noticing. I shall have, for the last time, brought myself unintentionally to the aspects of everyones attention through a cruel distillation of eternity.
Because at this time tomorrow, this very exact time tomorrow, i shall be dead.
I'm not aware of it right now, of coarse, but that still isnt going to stop it from happening. Right now i am a million miles away from tomorrow, right now i am nothing other than a curuious mere remeniscent of my former and future self.
Let me describe the typical day for me at the very beginning. Now as you may well be aware of, times change gradually throughout months, weeks, and years, but at this particular very beginning everything was a little inparticular to how they would soon become and to the time leading up to me coming to write this. The typical day for mer consisted of school, straight forward, same as it had always been. Only this year, year eleven, was my very last, much to my impatient releif. I would see the small group of friends of whom i'd grown a part of over the previous former months, as my social circuit seemed to adjust and reform at different periods of my years at the school. We'd torture through the bad lessons, emphasise happily through the good, then squander unsurely through breaks and lunch untill we found something even slightly productive and useful to do with our time. I never made any effort with my basic school uniform. I didn't even try to sex it up like the other student's preffered to, as i was so used to having tried on many attempts through the years to alter it and make it look good and yet always seemed to retract to the general odd formality of it that seemed to be brought to life on my body. Looking smart wasn't a problem, but had the similar effect as trying to look sexy, it never maintained any noticable significance on me. Given that no body was bright enough to appreciate anyone elses state of clothing i am suprised the teachers gave us all a constant hard time within pointless assembly's about how we presented ourselves. We had no enthusiasm to look good, and when we did, we were persecuted by onlookers for our individuality and determnination to suddenly look and therefor be different opposed to them, there for felt horrorble and unimportant to the world and insignificant beside strict teachers that believed they knew what was best for us, or so they said in words. Little did they know that deep down most of us are pretty smart enough to understand that it is their job to ensure us of such ridiculous notions.
The problem with teachers was that they expected all the kids to be like each other, there for if there was a particular badly behaved individual in the class then everyone was likely to be the same.
When i was seen walking down the coridoor with Steph, i got respected by a lot of the other girls in our year, unlike my first month when we refused to assosiate. But the teachers don't like her. They always expect her to misbehave and dance loudly off the rails for some reason, and when they see me with her i am aughtomatically just as bad. The reality of it was that neither of us ever really did anything specifically wrong or where any more promiscuous than anyone els, we were just more widely 'observed' for some reason.
I never wanted to be seen. That's why as soon as the bell went i was straight out the door before anyone could take the pleasure of reducing me to say or do something i would regret. When i was outside walking home with Steph two metres behind on her catch up, i could recharge, enloosen the tightening strings of information in my head so that everything was clearer and able to breathe, regain it's natural light.
I always enjoyed the twenty minute walk to dads new apartment. He'd recently moved to the opposite village to be nearer Rayrigg High were he tought disobediant schoolboys with troubled backgrounds.
In the afternoons me and Steph would wait for the sun to set, change into our tracksuits, scramble our way through the wood behind dads estate untill we reached the empty set of backfields owned by a drunken senile farmer who was about eighty years old with no family and was never to be seen. Only a broken rusty tracter with three flat tyers lay tinted at the far dark corner of the feild we often chose to monoover in. I remember the very first time we discovered that field when we were eleven. Mum kicked us out the house for going on Seans laptop and supposedly interupting a vital programme. We laughed and cried all the way through Lazamby untill we found the railway, ran through it and follwed a large set of farming land untill we found the same field and the same wood. The first thing i remember seeing was the tracter, which was still there to this day and hadn't moved an inch.
And what did we do in this field, you wonder? Drink endefinitably, of course. We'd squeeze large bottles of fruit juice and vodka into our coats and then chuck them into a dirty plastic carrier bag once we got outside into the yard. Then we'd make an effortless bolt for it like the day we had done when we first found it.
The running was part of what made it more of an exiting exhibition, and i always got a mischeifous thrill from being so secretive and persistantly achieving in my own plans. My own secrecy was the source of my happiness, and yet Steph was happy to go along with the ride as a companion. This was my joy, and over the many many many times we had repeated this ruitine on the often occasion when it were possible to do so, we never tired of it, but merely grew used to it. It was our den, to become and behave whomever and however we pleased for no body in the world was there to judge us or prevent our fun, eespecially not the old angry senile farmer.
I love Steph. Love is a strong word, but i mean it measured by the bond of the bestest friendship. The best i could have hoped for at least, in this tiring enraging scenario that life seems to like immensing us throuout on a permanent basis. Having somebody you are familiar with and whose ways you have grown accustom to you your to them, is fulfilling and assuring when you are low and unsure. On the occasions when you are being pulled into darkness when you don't feel you ought to be, when it's not where you want to be but are unable to prevent yourself from going there. A best friend can lighten that type of darkness, and even sometimes bare an offeritive hand to help lift you out and back into the frame of light where you can regain consciousness of yourself. To me, a best friend brought me the good times throughout empty space in danger of being wasted and unused, and tought me how to be a part of something by will, not by force. I love her for that, at least, weather any of it was her intention or not, and having her made me understand myself more as i grew up.
My dad liked to cook meals for me late at night. He liked to invite people round a lot, generally school related adults, and even sometimes, to my distaste, pupils of whom where in his oppinion, stable and eager for help. I suggested the notion of councelling being a better turn in their favor, but he assured me that to do fulfill his job dutifully as well as proffesionally he needed to enable such specific benefit for them in clean person himself. Supposedly this was the appropriate choice to make, and we endured several accounts of strained evening's with cautious dangerous looking teenage delinquents at our dinner table, tiresomely speaking of their difficultly approached childhoods and unstable involvment with drugs and crime. I'd serve a much unearned late of lavish varieties, and they'd shamelessly glare me over, much to my revolt, resulting to my resortment to eating in the sitting room, listening against a wall and taking in the uncertain conversation produced.
Mum, for years, lived with Sean. He was her third husband, and the worst in my unbound ultimate opinion.
Right from the moment my mum uttered, with much impatience, those fatalized words that crystalized their laxurious wedding into a hellbound marriage, history was born to be cursed for them both.
Of course, as it always does with domineering power obsessed control driven men, Sean was in charge of every last decision to entice between the two of them, and mum, being rather naive and slightly desperate to please, obliged always without a breath to hesitate. No trace of doubt or mention of uncertainty ever read within her face, but only that of a loving smile that suggested that she was here only to please and stand loyally beside her man. Watching the way she acted in his shadow turned me silently sick, although to begin with i was to young to know the definition of exactly how it was i felt. What i felt was anger, shame and embarassment. Another emotion i experienced, of which i can quite clearly remember immencing through me for the very first time, was loss. The loss of my beloved dad, who hadn't died, but who may aswell have done as far as mum and Sean were concerned. I strongly missed him, and those feeling's came to haunt me whenever i in Seans presence, which was almost all of the time. I wanted him home again, back with us, taking care of us, even.
I longed for him esseively throughout a certain period of time when i was at a young age and had begun to recognise Seans behavior as wrong and condemming. But still, it was mainly anger that i felt. Little for Sean, and utmostly for mum, because i was conscious enough to realise that Sean was charasterically thw way he was and would not change no matter where he was or whom with. But mum, she allowed him to treat her that way. Like her opinion didn't matter, like her input into anything counted for nothing, and she gladly did nothing about it and kept silent. I couldn't understand why, and, of which i experienced a great ammount of guilt over later on, my anger turned into a faint hatred towards her, for behaving so weakly without any sign of determination or will to stand up for herself againt him, for her own sake or mine. And also, although i didn't know this either yet, i was angry that this was all she had to show for the role model she portrayed on an open basis for me, her only daughter.
Of course i was extremely young at the time this began, way back at the beginning, and i was ignorant and naive to the many different reasons that explained this situation and why it was the way it was, and why she could not explain it to me in the obvious direct way i expected from her then as a child.
When i look at her i don't see myself at all. We are completely different people, who get along very well. Of course, i forgave her. There was not specifically anything to forgive, although i know she would have been graciously regretful for any confusion or misguidance drawn from me throughout her marriage to Sean.
In the end, he left her. I was immensely guilty to admit it, but i was more releived than i believed possible. I remember the very day mum walked through the front door in her beaded red dress of which she had not removed from the closet in years thanks to Seans restricful dress commandments. She switched on the light in the lounge and had her keys help limply in her palm, and although their was a taint in her eyes and a limply carried co ordination to her bodily structure, she leaned her head slightly to the side, and watching me for the first time with what seemed like natural observment as i practiced my violin, she said ''Well kid, we got the house back''
I smiled, and carried on playing, only this time with a little more needed stamina in my procession of performance. According to my music teacher i never played more enticingly before that day, and little did she know for little did i tell her it may have been down to my mothers divorce, the gainage of my home and the thankful riddance to a very bad man who had a thing about telling women how to 'perform', of whatever aspect that may refer to.
It's now been seven years since my mum walked through the front door that night. Since that moment i vowed i would never stand any less from a boy than what i deserved, which i liked to believe was the best.
I later found out, much to my disgust and unsettlement, that Sean was the one preventing dad from seeing me. He'd made mum agree file for full custody over me, and because dad was single and unemplyed at the time and she was newly married to a successful car salesman, she won.
I don't wish to discuss how i dealed with the discovery of this revelation with her once brought to my understan. It was profoundly unsettling for me to accept and for dad to have to tell me. As for realising what part mum played in the decision, let's just say thing's ran particularly unsmoothly between us for a long time. I even resented my brother Antony for having known so much for so long and failing to inform me of any of it.

Recently dad became re involved in both our lives for good, and i have stuck to the firmly contemplated decision to withdraw emotional involvment concerning either of my parent's buisness from now on. I beleieved in the belief of my own person, the person i had been given the ability to create within myself, without the partaking or enhancment of anyone els. I knew the influence of people around me would effect the person that i would become, or already had but had not yet discovered, but i had this dream that i would remain a secret from the world, hidden in the shadows so as i was immune to the harm capable of being reflected from anyone surrounding. Remaining my identity as everyone's question was my way of pretection, i suppose. It also felt exiting and naughty, because everyone had this certain perspective of how i was. It made me laugh to think of how sure they were of their own correctness, that i came to understand the meaning of ignorance, and there for arrogance. This, i considered, ranked amongst the uglier traites that propelled and bounded life and the general state of the world into what it was. Even though it was only one of an immense ammount of truths of the world of which i was to discover.

It may feel like i'm unvieling a life tale here, but really it's nothing. It means something to me, of course, but it's merely anything more than memory documentation now. I wanted to bring to attention how thing's were before the change. The real change, not just thing's replacing and retracting themselves in and out of life insignificantly throughout graduate time.
A beginning, a middle, and eventually, an end. As have does everything. Only there's sometimes the beginning, at some places there'll be the middle, and in turn the end will come, but none will be straight forward or brought to the simplicity and convenience of order or sense. Subtracted, divided, corruptional, however way it is percieved. This is it all.

~~

There is no certainty of where i am, or where i want to be, because nothing is rekevent or definable, only that i have become the type of calm that can only be defined through description of the curious unlimited mind, that steers me, every so once in a while, from my bounding senses that cage and protect me from the harsh dangers of the open world.
I want to run away. I want to walk up a mountain at night. I want to lay down in a river naked and let the moonlight filter out the cold and the lonliness, insulating me with a compelling entity, and the black darkness surrounding it can be my restoring shelter, that hides me when i am in need of guarding.
I wonder if anyone would notice if i left. They never notice anything else. Perhaps if i brought my distruptive imaginarities to life then i would shock them, but i dn't want that sort of attention. Giving everyone the chance to judge me and accuse me of all sorts of thing's i would likely be guilty of.






~~




I convinced myself that i would not ever get a decent boyfriend. Well, not anytime soon at least. I thought no guy would want near me after the rumours about me and Steph had circulated throughout school, and it wasn't that we cared much for what people thought, but it tarnished our reputations completely and gradually we noticed the large change that commensed between ourselvs and everyone els. We wern't in the circle of acceptance, which was never were we particularly wanted to be once we had each other to feed of, yet it caused us to become the infamous centre of attention at times that perhaps didn't suit our liking much.
I soldiered through, becoming engrossed in the challenge of peoples protestance against us, forcing myself to use what negative impact they had on us productively so i might somehow learn how deal with attraction like that. Steph didn't like to comment seriously on it, but would rather mock them consistantly without remorse of which did appeal to me humourously but with deep down knowledge it wasn't doing much for the hope of our remaining contentment at school, yet only further deepened a void for the riot commensing. An eagerly awaited riot between us and the school, or the circulation of acceptance, rather. They held a pending grudge, an awaited riot with everyone who dared question their status, their frontal image which protected their high position in the eyes of those that cowered obeyingly beneath them, those who allowed them power to be there in the first place. I always knew it wasn't in my nature to function like that. To be empowered by someone on my own level or take advantage of a capability to have that effect on someone els. It wasn't real, and it wasn't natural, least of all fair. Just because people tried to behave that way towards me, to monoover me to that side of the peer circulation, i wasn't going to betray my grounds for an easier life.
This meant no boys. I'd only kissed one, and that had been a one off in year eight, when i was thirteen. He had been a sixth former to, and not a particularly nice one. He'd been ahsamed of me, and kept me a secxret, when he asked me out, pleading with me to remain it a secret to. He made out like it wasn't an issue when he asked, but the worry i sensed from his eyes put pressure on me to agree, and i felt i didn't deserve the right to have a boyfriend so i shouldn't question into it. This was before my repuation was in danger of much suspectment, and no one noticed me a huge deal. The kiss hadn't meant a thing, only that i then familiarised with how it felt to share that level of closeness with a boy. It shudders me to think i shared it with him now, Henry Vicars. He wasn't anything delightful to look at and had been through a loop of aquaintances of mine already. He likely had no idea how scared i was of his expectations, of the thought of the preassure i was already facing from the thought of what a relationship with him would require, and, instantly knowing within three days of it, i finished it on good terms. I didn't see him again for at least two years.
But now, now i'd grown out of my repulsed attitude towards sex. Somehow i'd supressed past all memories of repulsive mental imagery, of terrorfying fantasies in which sex seemed a horrific shameful act to commit ones self to the involvment within. I no longer denied the acceptance that i was fascinated by it. I wanted to know how it felt to break free from ignorance, the outward reactive effect of being dealt with with delacacy and care, from the ghastly degradency of innocence of which people could only address me with in the idea that i had not yet been stung by the juices of the Earth. How innocence is beautiful, and how we long for it's riddance once we sense the deprivation it blesses upon us.
I definitely had convinced myself that no one would want me, that the price of taking a chance upon someone of which aquaintance would bare the riskiest consequences was to high. No one was right for me, and it wasn't a hugely focused problem for me. I'd had practise in accepting it for a long time, by then. I felt that the poeple who had attempted to convince me otherwise were kind liars, afraid to tell me what they thought might damage me. If only they'd known i hadn't cared.
I was so used to everything remainign the same. Change was something i hadn't contemplated dealing with, and had had so little familiarisation with that i couldn't image thing's being any different to how they currently were. Simple, retrated from the circular attention. Reserved from popularity in the investment of something more dignified and profound. How could thing's have turned so sourly opposite?
I'd eagerly awaited the anticipated ending to my school days. So had everyone in my year. We had been counting under our breaths of each passing day to the termination of our educational contract, the end of an agonising era of which our useless school had failed to deliver much positive benefit from. The year elevens had the privelege of leaving in early June, rather than late July as everyone els had. We had yet to sit our GCSE exams, but in all honestly it hadn't been something that concerned me that much. We'd be sitting them at the beginning of the following term, and in a separate part to the main school building, so although we were forced to sit exams in our school uniform from the moment of the departing day i felt free.
The follwing Friday i had heard a rumour.







ANYTHING BELOW HERE IS NOT FOR THIS CHAPTER





Sometimes i feel as if life is one big tranparent wave of emotion that would be impossible for us to outface. Because if it was, then what would be the point? The meaning? There would be nothing. The whole meaning to learn and progress as well as just BE would be gone. Nothing would be enjoyed, for it would not be seen through the windows of any other circumstance. No other option, no opposite diversion, just the same minimal track of depthless simplicity, no guide or point because their would be nothing to attatch it to. Just emptiness. It echo's within me to think how that would be. To imagine being nothing inside, meaning nothing. To be is to mean, and to mean is to be. And to be nothing, would be my ideal hell. To dispose of the something vreates a physical nothing and you see, how that so perfectly creates room for a mental somethig, and for that to be meaning the phsycological something was there all along. But then that would be impossible to, because after all, how can we create a physical nothing?
Today was so different. It was one of those days were you end up dwelling on the real matters in your heart a little more. Not much like how i do everyday, where i think about it all the time at the back of my mind and at certain times of the day depending on the thing i am doing it becomes a little more vivid and interesting and at other times boring and unecassary. I actually try my hardest to avoid them to be honest, because no matter how emotionally beneficial they can become, there is always some part of them that suffers because of it. Maybe it's the last remaining shreds of innocence. Of my mind stretching to a little further experience of thinking it each time i do.Perhaps it's the conscience, for some related matter. Perhaps i believe i've done something to deserve all the bad thing's that happen to me and i shouldn't dare to want anymore or hope or contemplate the possibility of it, because maybe i think a certain way that is wrong or i do thing's differently to others and that is wrong. And perhaps i just don't want to believe what the future holds. What future holds, beyond life, even. Perhaps something i don't understand is not something i am worthy of having. Isn't that what is said in the Bible or something to that notion? About how heaven is only deserved to the who believe in it. And God and everything relating to him.
I don't want to go to heaven, not neccasserily in the strict afterlife order that people talk of. I want to feel heaven. I don't even know if it's the same heaven everyone else thinks of. And i don't know why but a tiny part of me feels ever so wicked for feeling that. Like it's expecting more than i deserve or it's not right. Or it's a sickly alluring trap that appears attractive like the harpies in Jason and The arganoughts who drew sailors to their island with their angelic voices before feeding on them alive.
So this is why i get nervous thinking about such intensities to which the heart is curious. As much as it enthralls me to explore the idea of that unknown, it silently punishes me to. An overcome of hollow dryness.
When i woke there was nothing to it. It was just another casual day where i had nothing to do and no one to do it with. The Goldfish barely ceases to entertain after the first few months of owning him, no matter how much you tell yourself he is. The pasta in the cupboard becomes very common. It only just occurs to me how much i dispise artificial light. The Sun is probably the biggest object created by nature within our sight. Man has recreated the resource of the largest object of nature with disgusting lamposts flickering yellow rays and huge built in bulbs raging at 150 watts in your eyes every Monday morning at 7:30 when you feel half dead and your mum is bellowing the school song in your ear. Oh dear, bad memories. Thank God the times that created them over. At least all this free time isnt being packed with intruding school hours that were never of much point to my education given the lack of PASSION the teachers applied to their job. Because at the end of the day, that's what makes a job well done. Determination means it get's complete, passion means it already is. That's if the intention to which it is invested is not planned on being savotaged by jelous downsiders.
Lifting up my phone at the side of my art desk, i checked my messeges half hopefully, imagining an amazing beautiful text of Jack describing how much he wanted to see me again and kill my emptiness with vibrant sex. I giggled, and then sighed doubtfully as i saw their was only one messege from someone i didnt even like which was of no importance or at least not a spark to my interest like i needed to satisfy my craving for a buzz. All hope was lost, when i realised how sick i felt when i thought of the pasta in the cupboard.
I arised from my pit, which was the sofa as well as mine and Antony's bed, and scarpered to the kitchen gleefully in the hope of something of which i did not know just quite yet. There really truly was fuck all that was so needed to be done that i could do it. Why did i want to anyway? I'm usually lazy. When i'm not deadly set on completing something that no doubt will gain me some rewarding of some type.
I notice how dad doesn't line up all the recipe essentials on the chopping board the way Sean did when mum and him were married. Nor does he have everything arranged perfectly in precise order in the fridge the way Sean did. Or in the cupboards. I'm not used to it being so different in these little ways. It's different because their are crumbs on the table. Sean always had everything tightened up and locked back away the minute he had finished using it. Every last crumb was disposed of after cooking, and i found myself in an inevitable habbit of making sure that job was checked. Dad has different habbits entirely. Half of everything he used last night is still hanging about on the side boards. Stuff like biscuits and butter. Crumbs galore. Not a cloth in sight. I feel glad that i now live with my dad again, and i mean that. The gut instinct i sometimes become aware of tells me that, for some reason that has nothing to do with the kitchen or anything, that i am, perhaps, just now, safe?
Wow, it's only now that i notice how different everything else is. If you compared the house to a person, the person would be a reformed character that no one would believe. Dad has papers on the floor, of which some are from last week. I counted a short number of small marks on the wall which hadn't been painted over. Totally unrecognisable marks, but still, i could not imagine them in Seans and Mums former house. Neither could i imagine these interesting looking tools lying around or the few shavings from the wood dad had been drilling a whole through last night, keeping me awake. I definitely couldn't imagine a goldfish. And oh my goodness, no way in hell could i imagine a dog in their home! Mum had always fluttered on childishly about how she'd always 'fancied a dog'. I would often joke and reply that that had been dad not her, to which she would correct me that it was his former girlfriend, rather than herself. Hence the woman he dated post divorce. Anyhow, mum arised the notion to Sean one day, and that was the last time she ever spoke of it. i don't know where mum is right now. i feel sorry for her. I want her here with me. she doesn't seem like herself. i hate it when people change, it confuses me. It frightens me because i know there is always a reason for change, even though change is inevitable.
The home phone rang midway thought. It would have startled me or something being in a mass of pause at that particular moment but it didn't. It was Elena, from my course. She needed to see me urgently about filework concerning our essay on light, which seems to be all we ever spoke about in Photography now. I felt a little displeased and unsettled at this sudden preasure out of my cosy little settlement i had for myself right now, but only in that small way you naturally do. I was obliged to take a shower and apply a cake of make up to see how good i could look, even if it was for nothing. I often find that the more appealing i look the more sppealing i feel. That way at least if there's nothing to do then there's something to do it with. To elaborate physical talent, the type that doesnt require action. Becoming your own project, almost. Must be quite how those lifeless models live. Hollow would be a better word, for that is the word i use for mental emptiness that means nothing but aquires (with respect) shallow forms of occupance to make it barable.
As a walked to the bus, dad messaged me to bring down a shirt in a bag with a receipt that he needed to take back to a shop. He'd forgotten to take it to school with him to return on the way back for a smaller size, and asked me to drop it in at aunty Charbonnet's resturant on the way back for her to do it. Tutting, i slumbered back to the house and searched amongst piles of newly bought prizes for the forgotten shirt. It was nice, but i hated the idea of going into aunty Charbonnet's resurant and embarassing myself by hanging around for her. It was a very explusive place invested by her boyfriend and she and him ran the 'Pizzeria' with the help of z ton of elaborately dressed waiters and waitresses quite obliged to do whatever they were told at the wages they were paid, or so i am told. It's very expensive, and is the sort of place people take you for a treat and where you wouldn't usually see your friends. I have to say the wine i've tried made me very very happy last time i dined there. Dads welcome home treat.
Oh and how different is aunty Charbonnet to dad? So much more sophistiocated and preserved within herself and her actions. Dad doesn't much care what he does or how he looks doing it, which i suppose in a light is a positive way to behave but in others it can be extremely risky. He does, however, care an awful lot about how he looks to his pupils at shitty Grayrigg, which is pointless in my eyes because those kids shall never change and have no hope at wanting to stand out and become something. But i can tell by the way he talks about it that he takes his job very seriously and is intent on giving something back to those kids. Something tells me that that isnt exactly the way the cookie crumbles with aunty Charbonnet, who i think perhaps tries her hardest to look commited but is actually sitting nervously basked within a whirlwind of idea's taking form of life around her that she is possibly in the long run incapable of handling with great success. It's a bit like that. All unsensemaking and ironic. Dad looks like he isnt bothered, but is actually very comitted about his work, where as aunty Charbonnet is all front with certainty and determination but doesn't withold the correct tools (passion) to match.
I handed it to her as soon as i saw her. It was a little abrupt, charging through rows of tables and prodding it in her face in a hurry, to which she looked most uncomfortable and unenthuesed.
''Ah yes'' She concluded, taking hold of it awkwardly, ''Steves shirt? He rang''
I smiled uncomfortably and raised my eyebrows, scarpouring my hands to my back pockets ''Must mean a lot to him then''
''Mm'' She mumbled, briefly glancing it over in the bag. She refaced me. ''I'll see to it. Are you okay chick? You look sweated''
''Erm. Yes'' I hesistated, before realising i was meant to be in a hurry at this point
''Shit i gotta go, Smelenor's waiting at cafe in town'' I babbled, pulling an odd expression
''Not that rude girl who keeps ringing up and asking for tips, surely'' Charbonnet questioned before i found the second to dash
I rehesitated, then laughed.
''Does she? She seemed like a bit of a kiss ass'' I smiled, amused
''Yeah. I was trying to finish that dam paintwork in your dads stting room the other day and all i could hear every five minutes was this 'Elenor' girl on the answer phone going on about God knows what about light''
A couple of waiters tried to slip around us while we spoke. Charbonnet didn't do anything about it. I suddenly realised that i needed to get straight to the bus right that very second.
''Yeah okay. That's what i have to see her about now probably. Anyhow i have to get off, i'll see you later''
''Okay sweetheart, enjoy yourself''
She said it so distinctly as if i was having a day out and i was curious to know what she had meant, and as i was turning to leave i quickly spun round again for a minute, ''Enjoy myself?''
''Yeah'' She replied birghtly, ''Your obviously off out somewhere nice dressed like that. Or hoping to bump into someone special perhaps?''
I wanted to cower away right there and then but common sense resorted me to a look off confusion before nodding awkwardly and running out with the waiting bus being my very exuse. The nodding was totally pointless and i don't know why i did it just to please her. I hate doing thing's to please other people. It's just she sounded so sure that she was right that i almost felt trapped, within that particular second, of believing it myself.
I missed the bus. Or more embarassingly i took the wrong one, which has only ever happened once when i was a child and which i cried over and left me traumatized with embarassment. It was just the abselout worst thing that could have happened to me there and then, and finding that when i managed to get off at the first place possible i had a long way to walk before i could find my way back to the village. Not only that, but during my brief encounter on the bus, it had began to rain quite heavily. It was a very bleak day, and i should have expected it, i just didn't expect it to come down so hard. But what am i saying? I love rain. It's water, and water is a good thing. The only thing that makes raining seem negative, really, is the cold and the generally cloudy skies (plus other obvious annoyances such as hair/make up/paper related objects). Ultimately rain with sunshine is always beautiful, and can be the creation of something beautiful. Hence rainbows. And you never ever are that upset about it when it happens. But somehow, just now, at this point in these clothes with this make up and with skies so grey yes, it was not so marvellous. All i could do was fantasise about my cosy messy house which felt lightyears away at that stage.
As i trodged through the continuous cicle of puddles i managed to get a rough recolection of my reflection. I bagen to see and fake believe like an intoxicated person, remembering how it felt to be intoxicated with alcoholor a drug of some sort. Not anything major, i never did that, but the lighter enhancers, enhancing my moods a nd adjusting my personality to substance of the dose. I often like my senses to become out of control, but only when i am in the calming knowledge of a secure surrounding, with people who will divert me if i turn toward a downward spiral that will lead to no good. I love the feeling of a negative mood being devoured by an immense sense of oblivion which will dissolve the doubt and the worry burdening on the mind. I'm not naive. I know it is a danger and a threat to me and many others to believe and act upon this. Sometimes, i convince myself that i do not care, telling myself there is nothing now that i cannot overcome and detatch myself from once it tries to melt me into it's demands. Perhaps it is my aspirment to give into temptation that makes excuses. Perhaps i simply believe that a darkness worth writhing throughout is a darkness worth believing in.
I began to imagine my reflection more and more, as i walked through the graveyard, past the old church, rain becoming thicker and faster. Rain that blurred the scenery, my open outward view of the world, so that i had barely much option than to rcollect over the most frequent mental image, my reflection. The one in the puddles, the water, the rain. I love it. Thats a darkness in itself, the water. It is dark in it's ability to kill.



THE PREVIOUS TO HAVE SPEECH CUT OUT MADS











Later





i trecked along side Steph as we trampled effortlessly through the subways into the town sentral. I'd never felt so cold in my life, and this wasn't even touching christmas. As young human people, we as girls we not used to nor did we much take to being in full function consciousness at this precise point of the morning. It was to early. SIX, for crying out loud. No doubt Steph wouldn't be seen in an elaborate university of boys without the facial spark that stimulated her vanity assets, as i like to call them. That will have taken me ten minutes, if i put my mind to it. Being an artist and all i was used to putting intense effort into light work. After all, all art meant something, did it not? For her, having not mastered the useful art of pateince, will have dibbled and dabbled anxiously at it for half an hour or so at least. Poor girl. Much do i love her for her blind mishaps. So now it was a question of getting to college. Somewhere both of us shared the preference of rather being at than school anyday. And no, it wasn't a university like i'd said. That was for show, and anyway, i'd get far to home sick, not that this is a home much to my liking, so i don't understand that either.
At college i can play the violin, i've been told. I must say i don't much like the idea of practising in front of a room of strangers, even though dad persistantly antagonises me about 'learning to perform comfortably in front of others'. Well why should i? He knows i'm a very private person and i perform quite happily for none other than myself. It's alright for him inside his cosy little deprety heads office at Grayrigg shit-hole High. He tells me tales of when he began working at Lazambe college. How challening, sophisticated and well presented everything was, how well annered and standard risen it was to other basic education centres. So why, may i ask, did he give it up to kiss ass the head master at an abseloutly downright apalling mess of a school like Grayrigg? I cease to know, or at least understand, as always with basic straight forward behavior.

Steph kicked the side of the pavement, folded her arms and snuggled her chin deep down into her navy green scarf as far as possible as we walked on. A harsh ground absorbing wrath at the bottom of my stomach made me partially want to vomit and pass out on the pavement, but felt embarassed even despite the lack of people in the street and merely couldn't create the effort to do so. How pathetic to feel this way. Faces down, eyelids half closed. Grunting, sighing, coughing in the frosted breeze every second minute. Feet trailing, bags dragging, atmosphere rotting simply because of the mere frustration from the mass lack of energy caused by an unfamiliar early morning. And the cold played a heavy part also, i must say. It cut way in on the chances of practising the social telant we so eagerly and convincingly pretended to have, as like many others, being sort of like an adolescent law. I knew Steph well enough to know that this would bleaken her mood far worse than mine. I had a determined nature, and could stick out the odd early morning once in a while. I even quite liked getting up and knowing that i would be the only one in the house awake for hours. It was one of those unusual thing's that strangely satisfied me. But Steph? Oh no, you may aswell forget it. I bet her dad had to throw a sack of rotten oil leeking potatoes over her to make it slightly more possible to drag her out of bed at half 5. And then, and how ironic is this, we miss the bus by like, five seconds, literally, and there for have to walk two miles through this big empty ass town to college.
And when we stop occasionally to pointlessly take an ectra hard breath or put a larger effort into flicking our hair out of our faces it doesn't like a really bad excuse to do nothing, not at all. I just want to get there. But somehow despite telling myself through the conscious mind that i am very much not enjoying this agonisingly cold treck, i cannot help but love it so dam much just for making me paler, more vulnerable, more eaily hurt, more subtle, and more protective of myself. It puts me in a state of pretend self pity, which enables me the chance to nurse my aching body, which along with the theory of mothering and the general tendancy of being needed, i adore. A phsycological or mental habbit, i suppose. Why should i love this drastic weather more than anyone els, but then again why should i label it drastic when i know in my heart that i believe it to be a crude ungenuine ignorant description of what i truly believe to be a beautiful sketch of nature and the form of it, the delacacy and grace of it in it's most unspoken distilled state. It's almost silently livid, hence the sharp vibes firing off me and Steph like an eratic pig pong ball.
At these sort of wonderous times when we are both silent i don't know weather Steph has any idea of the places which the abscence of speech has restored my thoughts to, but i am sure she knows i am somewhere els. After all, i know her pretty well, and i would proudly swear my diary on that. I excpect her to know me back.
Eventually, a few minutes after we cut a corner, Steph turned her neck to me and subtly glanced me over.
I knew she was about to speak even without looking at her, i was that consciously aware.
''I want to go home'' She tethered, but not annoyingly, like a child does.
I sighed, dropping my shaulders and following the floor.
''I know you do. And you know i do, to. But if we turned back on everything we do when it get's a bit harder than we'd turn into nobody's, you do realise that''
Steph said nothing, but focused on the ground for a few seconds. Spaces between words were perfectly necassary in silent atmospheres like these.Thoughts were the dominance of sound, of social music, of mental politics.
She curbed her head up,
''You always told me that everybody is somebody, that nobody is a nobody''
''I was humoring you'' i lied.
It didn't take her long to come back on that. One of her specialities.
''No'' She corrected, detecting my mistruths, ''Your humoring me now, and i don't think i like it to much''

She glared and wearied, and I ceased to notice or care, being to fulfilled by the calming serenity around me, even despite whatever her words may signified she felt right now or was trying to translate to me. I responded indignantly the way I generally do when absent minded. Times when all other worries become a silent murmur in the shadows of my mind, shadows formed by the in taking aroma within me that absorbed all attention I bared. For all I knew, Steph could be in exactly the same place as me at this moment, but detecting by the anxiety in her tone, I tended to doubt it.
‘’I think we should stop somewhere’’
Steph looked confused.
‘’Stop where? For what?’’ She asked spryly, probably quite in impractical favour of the idea.
‘’Food. Somewhere’’ I said undoubtedly, reversing answers to the question. Still, I didn’t stop to discuss it further, but continued walking as if our destination was route.
‘’Okay’’ Steph replied questionably.
At this point I glanced sideways at her, looking clearly thoughtful. For a minute I didn’t say a word, and neither did she, even though I half expected her to by this point. I could sense her want for further talk.After a few minutes she asked ‘’Where can we go? There are no café’s open yet, and the supermarket it about half a mile away.’’
‘’We don’t have to go to a café to eat’’ I pointed out, ‘’this is planet Earth after all’’
Steph raised her eyebrows, ‘’and where on Earth is the planet you are living on?’’
We both grinned simultaneously, as we do, and continued to walk closer and more in sync with one another from now on.
‘’I want to take you somewhere’’ I said without stirring.
''Planet Venus'' Steph smiled, not striking her eyes from the horizon, ''Now that i wouldn't mind''
''And why would you want me to take you there?''
''Because'' She breathed tiredly, ''I'v no doubt it's warm and exotic''
I giggled at her certainty, ''I've no doubt it's cold and wet, m' dear!''
Steph shrugged, asthough the prospect didn't seem so bad.
''No. It will be warm with all that love, wouldn't you think?'' She said turning to me, smiling furtherly. I couldnt help but offer her a look of patronising realism.
''I knew there'd be more to it. Of course it's full of love warmth. Where do you think we develop the ability to love? From tree's? Nope, that's breathing.''
Steph seemed to draw cloer to me all of a sudden, and withhelf a strange vibe of confidence.
''Same thing, you said once''
I carried on walking for a moment, without speaking. Silence was sociably acceptable, when surroundings such as this restored the atmosphere at it's most calm such as now.
''Well it's not Venus, just to clarify'' I reassured her, leading her down a turn in beside the current road we were side passing. Well, not so much lead, she simply just followed me, without me feeling the need to direct her. Perhaps this was another point that we knew each other well.
She followed me all the way down past the riverbank. The rough side, where everyone tipped their take away left overs, but it wasn't near there where i was planning to stop. Nor was it anywhere near the back end of Sainsbury's and the farming vehicle refurbishment with all it's wasted oils and toxins poluting the fields and what grows in them.
Infact, i took her down narrower pathways untill we reached the large bridge that would take us across the river and onto the more appealing side. Here, i walked over to the corner of the field, and over the wall, i sat down by the cherry tree.
Steph looked at me, then studied the tree carefully. She then returned her look to me once more, this time rather questionably.
''It's been growing rasberries for over three decades, as i'm told''







Earlier



I’m waiting outside for a bus. The bus that comes every morning at 6 30 at the end of my road. It’s quite a long road, and I usually wait about five minutes before the 599 arrives. This morning I’m waiting longer, and the bus still doesn’t come. It’s a cold morning, and I can barely breathe. I’ve never known it to be this cold, never really felt it untill now. My breath conjures before me in a silent cloud, and I am hardly capable of akwknoledging it at all, for I am so dam cold and wet. Silence is rapid. No one is around. A faint murmer of something tremmers around. I realise that the reason iv’e never heard it before is because the louder sounds have always overshadowed it in daytime. This is the real sound of early morning, and it’s so loud I can barely breathe. The sound of an engine starting twenty miles away. The roadworks from the next town. And then, there’s something else. I kneel on the pavement, as the seats from the shelter look like carved ice. I’m perched on the very tip of the road and I can hear these footsteps. They begin silent, so silent I could mistake them for something els. Only now they become louder and louder, gradually thudding into my ears like a frustrated drum, unable and unwilling to give up. Give up the determination to divert me. Divert my curiosity, even though I hear the very same sound thousands of times over every single day. Though, it’s never quite the same. The stillness that surrounds the footsteps is never quite so halting. The crisp grading of the grit on the tarmack as the shoes scrape the floor is never quite so crisp. Never quite so intense is the anticipation to glance over and see who the stranger emerging towards you is. And never quite so missed is the sheer reassurance of it when it slowly fades away back into nothing.







One Beginning

you get into a ay of thinking, believing that everyday is a repetative cycle of the same thing's. I fall into believing this sometimes, but then i ditest and completely enthrall against the idea of getting influenced and preassured into thinking or behaving a certain specific way simply because of what's happening around me. More likely than not the thing's happening around me are a bad source of energy that deep down i feel are trying to destroy me and persecute me, humiliate me to the world and be unforgiving to whatever i may have done to deserve it. Like many other thing's that i have found useful in teaching myself, i teach myself never to depend on a ruitine written by the fake surrounding's that have i have been tested by for existing and developing around me.
I sat at home, mildly bored like i usually found myself. I was preparing for an early start to work that day in Harry's store. Christmas was a short drive ahead and getting stocked up on festive gifts early on was never a bad idea as far as buisness was concerned, even if my dad hated christmas and insisted on morphing into Scrooge at this particular time of the year just to annoy everyone who annoyed him with rejoicing early and esstatically in the spirit of christmas. Despite enjoying my job very much at all times and persiveres of my moods, i felt unsteady about going in today, and tired from having little sleep for some reason. It wasn't serious enough to have acted upon and withdrawn from the day's shift, but i couldn't distract myself from the scent of captivation from normality in some descreet distant place within myself of which was so far i was unable to ditect what it had stemmed from. What was i longing for that i couldn't have today? After all, these feelings, i had leanred had mostly always been born from my unmistakable consistancy to long for something upon all times. Guilt comes from longing when you are fully aware that there are those existing, breathing at this very moment, who long as you do, which much further reason.
I picked up a book laying upon the floor as i sipped on my coffee. Mum was still in bed, but i had never known her to be much of a reader. It looked like something dad would have bought. Exactly the type of book. I knew he had a passion of reading, perhaps where i got my eagerness to explore words from. Perhaps it was somewhere els.
I found, to my unlikely intruigment, the the book i opened was all about Lazamby. My town of which i looked upon and over as i bared a descreet and shy living upon the outskirts. The town of which i had known so much more of over the last six months and adapted throughout and amongst within a thousand different ways and reasons. The old days. Victorian. Not me and my experiences, just the pictures in the book. A picture of a part of Lazamby a hundred or so years ago compared to how it was now. The difference, the change. Almost every spot you could think of in Lazambe. All te places you would have seen if you lived there but never really thought of and always assumed was private if thought of.
I began to feel captivated by this persona and reality of a former Lazamby,, a Lazamby of age. Of history. All the places and parts of this town were in this book, and they all had a history, a ghost. I was haunted within my soul from this moment on. The ghost of Lazamby, of my town. Of every place which i had at least two or three memeories of at least, which had a million more in it's own existance, it's own reality. Each place i had grown aware of of recent, was immortalized in it's own right, bared to eternity with the blessing of being built into a place of which happening's would take place and situations would immense. A secret unknown portfolio, biography, for every part, segment. I didn't know it, but the seedling's of me had caused me to become lost in devotion to the memory of this town, to the meaning and entity, and to every former memory of every part which made it a whole. Was this how strongly i felt about the place of which i had fallen in love with him? And was i being dramatic in knowing that it was because of that of why i felt this way towards this place? This significant place, distant to me in spirit but close to me in heart for the reason of him only.
I turned every page with delacacy and grace throughout my fingers, with a new curiosity, a hunger and appealment to discover more treasures within the history of another part of it. Of course i was aware that it was merely nothing more than a ew paragraphs of information and a blearly victorian picture of how it used to look, but i still felt enthralled and attentively diverted. It was what was distracting me from the fateful ruitines of daily life at this point. Now i look at it, i was a child, yearning and curious to know of the past of that which had brought me such joy and such pain, such exisit unpredictable emotions of which soared me drainless of bearings into the entity of everything.
I saw the town centre. The shops which i had seen and bought from, met people at and desputed arguments and rejoicing's at. I saw the river bank as the children played along it all those years ago. The riverbank which me and Jack walked along all these yeard later, yet all those months ago. We held hands and he teased me and my emotional tolerance through. Then all the other times he seemed more distanced each time. Growing further and more insignificantly distant within consciousness to me as we embraced our adolescent stride throughout it's stretch. Don't think of it.
Picture this. Yound adolescent male rogue from uncertain relative connections raised in challening workhouse town cheekily blags a railway lift to local village on the train. Young rogue comes in desire of current young female interest lving by local village who also happens to be a secret scoundrtal of similar means, but has her longful eye upon an aquaintance of his despite havig already indulged in innapropriate suggestive manners with the young rogue. The young rogue smokes his pipe and eagerly awaites within the circle of aquaintances from his secret young female companion, of which he does not know any but cockily attempts to intervienge in his own interest's of getting what he want's. Another young female aquaintance of his female companion steps out of a passng horse and carriage lifting people from the following town. She knows his young female love interest rather well from having attended school with for several years, and has always been the object of awe and envy of the young female companion of which he has come to see today, perhaps in the interest of coming across more intruigable treasures. The boy is instantly captivated and entranced unmistakably by this young raw innocent girl, who is without mitake a step less promiscuous than the troubled young female friend which had accompanied her throughout her school day's. As this happless curcle of young teenage children roam amongst the joyous facilities of the village, the young woman of which arrived and caught the eye of the boy, follows of into a new curcle of her own friends, of which he undoubtedly excpected she had aside from the other girl, and wonders away, much to his wonderment of ever being enticed with her alarming and spectulous prescence again that afternoon or any other. Then, suddenly, the girl realises she does not want to be apart from her original group, for whatever reason of which she cannot quite understand just yet, and makes up her mind that she has only parted to rejoice in her new group to obide by the cruel natures of peer preasure, and feel's asthough her heart depends on returning to where she had begun her arrival, with her young female friends. Within an hour or so, the older, challenging preassurising young women surrounding this girl, of which she soon sees as an obsticle of that has diverted her away from where she truly wishes to be tongiht, faulter in their will to strive into unknown terratories of the village, as they have already explored and persued these parts many a night before with the same intention which has gained them very little amusement or fulfillment in the idea of fun. The young girl hopefully suggests the retrieve back to their original criteria where the first group had circulated, but the older girls seem doubtful and hesitate at being propelled away from their domain dominance and intewntion, but eventually see no reason or point to coninue with their unsatisfactory exhibition and accompany the heart thrust defiant young woman back to the centre village where the two groups had agree'd, much to the young girls relectance, yet she only realised now, to part ways.
She assured te older girls from her group that she would undoubtedly cross paths with them again that nigt, and to expect many exitments stemming from her toward their way, although she felt in her heart rather unsure to weather she would carry them out. All that was in hope of her heart right now was amidant and eager, blind to her right now as she refused to contemplate or understand it in fear of demolishing her propriety in some way.
The young rougue boy and his young lady love interest had barely spoken since entwining interveignment within the group, much to his distastement and her longing for another his earlier mentioned fellow aquaintance of whom was not here. Not only had she unveiled her ahir, but she had deliberately lisfted the hem of her petty coat in hope of his appearance this afternoon. The young rogue acted none to much care but spoke of his awareness to her subguided attitude towards him and her friends that night. Her displayed to her an oscar deserving performance, with much truth invested, to being utterly uncaring of her lack of attention towards him, by captivating the humour and popularly engaging the admirance and attentions of the remainig members of their young ruffian group. She had to admit he did splendidly well considering he had barely met a single one of them. before in his life.
The young female friend of the rogues love aquaintance had almost lost heart in attempting to detect the whereabouts of her former original group of friends, who had seemingly moved from where she had first departed from them, not that she hadn't ecpeted they hadn't. Her heart sank further than she knew why and suddenly develpoped a longing to return home safe to her father. Her desire to act upon her undying curiosity had enforced her to comitting one last chance to the notion of retracking her friends, who she pined to see before she returned home. After all, it disheartened her to understand she had enagaged herself into an outing with which nothing had she gained from physically or emotionally, which, she hadn't, quite yet.
Before she went to wait for a passing coach carriage, she checked behind the local book colllecters gatherings. Behind it lay a pitt for young scallies from miles aroud to roam aimlessly and smoke their pips without a care for the occasional yelling's of disaproval diverted from appalled modest elderlies who happen to be passing by on the other side of the riverbank. The young rogue appealing reached into his pocket and dragged out a burnt brown pipe of which he fastly lit whilst poked at the edge of his mouth. His grinned in a pleased manner as the smoke blew graciously fromthe side of his smitten mouth, monoovering under the bonnet of his bobble cap. The young girl wh had strayed an hour or two earlier to unwanted means saw the young rogue perched on the edge of the stone stairs. She walked over to him and sat beside him, not replacing her decided look from the empathic rapid churning contents within the river. The young rogue stretched his feet inside his torn buckled oversized shoes, clicked his fingers together simultaniously whilst stretching out his reflexed sleeve rolled white arms, then gaped closely into her scarlet cheeks, her wallowing scently mouth, her drifiting cautious eyes, her contented focus on the empowering waters that lay ahead. He had all the character of a pining child, ready to plead upon the floor for bread crumbs by the hand of a master or mistress. But she was no mistress, and she was certainly no master, as she would soon discover, and not much later would he.
The group vanished. The young girls school companion, the rogues love interest of whom he had supposedly come here to entice, had gone home to her abusive stepfather, and now all that lay ahead was a wallowing of sterdy darkness brought forth by the inevitable night. An accompaniment of a growling wind would commense also, yet the girl was left in blistering wonders still to this moment.
''Can i share your gobstopper?'' The boy said, lusciously, his eyes panting breathlessly but his mouth remainig enclosed and predruelled.
The girl turned her head, and looked down upon his face. His new, interesting beautiful face, of which was proportioned slightly beloow hers, and of which she had only set her bare undistracted eyes upon with utmost this very moment.
She handed him the ball of candy, of which his gratifiantly took in his rough leatherly schoolboy hands and cracked effortlessly against a plate step on the ground. He bit into it. It made a hard gritty sound against his teeth, but he seemed unoticed to it, and he planted his physical contentment to the outly diversion of the river, whilst he did this.
''Come back with me''
A moment, silence. A glance without movement.
''Where?''
Stillness. Modesty. His turning of gaze. The river was nothing less than an occupance of attention to him. But what had it been to her?
''To Lazamby''
Her glance remeained untread. Nothing moved other than her eyelids in a vast blink. She wanted to move her head away, but couldn't bring herself to ster herself from how she was.
'''But how?''
''By train''
''I have no money to pay my fair''
''I have money, i have enough for both of us''
Another paused silence. This time she turned her head away, unable to maintain it, unable to maintina her focus. Unable to be the way she wanted. Distracted to propriety and caution.
''My father won't be pleased''
The boy insisted on mastering her eyes at this point. Her looked at her, made her so aware of his attentment upon her, that she had no other option within her natural instincts but to encline her gaze to oppose his.
''It doesn't matter'' He breathed, silently, ''Just come''
The girl got up and walked away. She shut her eyes and breathed.
''Perhaps i'll see you another day''
Perhaps

Now, enough of the historic parodic invionsary nonsense. You may want to hear the real thing as it were told in modern day reality. Prepare yourself for the long recallings to the beginning of a love story