Rendezvous
08 August 07 : 06.20 AM
No, sophisticated lady
I know, you miss the love you lost long ago
And when nobody is nigh you cry
Something is missing. I am not crying, I am not thinking. I'm shivering, but I could just be cold. Billie Holiday makes everything a little more beautiful tonight.
I visited the ex's blog. He writes in this I'm-not-taking-myself-seriously, yet has this underlining cynicism to his tone. On good days, it's reminiscent of comic writers, on bad, it's just gay, although I'm really missing my point here. The point is, it's strange to see my name in older entries. Strange to read, "I'm only writing because I'm bored and Vicki's not over", or "I haven't spoken to her the entire day and it's making my heart crumble" or "She slept in my arms and I had a good sleep for the first time in a long while...I love her man". On one hand, I'm disgusted. Yet it makes me sad too. Not sad because it's over (I should be thanking god everyday for that demise), but because it once happened. Sometimes I feel like, with all rationality aside, if any of that ever happened again with someone else, it would be tainted or fake or without all the meaning that it held the first time round.
Danii and I had one of the hugest quarrels we've ever had. It wasn't all tempestuous with all the crying and shoving each other and tight soul-fusing embraces. It was, me crying awful little teardrops, a bit of numbness between us, dulcifying but not warming embraces, a lot of resent and hatred. I couldn't help but feel there wasn't love anymore.
I begged of him to stay the night. To take a bath and let me soothe his nerves by giving him a slow, sensual massage. I would have put on some Vanilla scent and a million little candles and Billie Holiday. But he said no.
Can't tell if it's resignation. Can't tell if I'm just numb. Or maybe nothing's sunk in. Or worst yet, I'm used to this love cycle. I fell asleep reading Peter Pan. I dreamt of Kensington Gardens last night.
You learned that fools in love soon grow wise.