Saturday, June 1, 2013

you were always asking really strange questions.



 
*Two people walk side-by-side along a cracked footpath, one steering a bicycles, the other wears red gumboots*
1: So how are your drugs going? Which ones are you on?
2: (awkward pause) They're okay. I'm on two at the moment, started a new one not that long now. I'm doing okay. I'm still here
1: What? Did you not want to be?
2: (shocked silence, stares at the ground)
1: It's okay. We've all been there. I'm not going anywhere, kid
 
---
 
*The pair have begun walking down an alley, following an delicate explanation of how close to leaving 2 was*
1: I don't want you to feel like this, but I'm not going to run away because of it. You know that right?
2: (despair in voice) I just don't understand why you're still here...I'm like a Pandora's box of problems. I literally don't understand why you'd want to date, see, be...with someone like me
1: Look, I don't completely know myself. Maybe because I like you...all I know is that I like hanging out with you, and we have interesting conversations. I'm not going anywhere, kid
 
---
 
The Poet made me hummus on toast, peppermint tea and shortbread biscuits after these (and many more) intimate conversations; as well as lying me down on his bed, kissing my neck and telling me I have a cute face. I was extra surprised when he took my hand on the way home and kissed my cheek. I could not have asked for a more perfect date considering how fucked the past few months have been (maybe that's why it sounds fucked from any other perspective but my own).
"I'm not going anywhere, kid."
 


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