If this is how it ends,
Just think how it began,
Remember me my friend,
And the song that we once sang.
I'll look into the sky,
As I feel you on the breeze,
And as I begin to fly
I will remember you with ease.
Only words remain,
To bring you back to me,
To cancel all the pain,
And set all our hearts free,
Free from all the tears
We cry each day that you are gone,
I face my darkest fear
That I'll be with you before long.
Tuesday 6 July 2010
Tuesday 8 June 2010
City Story
I step off the train and immediately I know where I am. This city was home to me, for a while, and in some ways it will probably always remain so. I walk down the stairs, into the station foyer, and straight outside. Around me, voices chatter in a foreign tongue, and it takes me a moment to start picking out what’s being said.
It’s late afternoon, around three o’clock, and it’s winter. There’s a chill in the air, but everything is crisp. The kind of day where there is no rain, no snow, just an ever present cold. Refreshing. I cross the road, dodging past the trams pulling in outside the station, and head towards the small park, through which, I remember, you can access the city centre.
The park is busy with people despite the time of year, and I walk past couples and families, heading for the city proper. Coming out of the other side of the park, I make my way through the familiar streets, streets I remember from long ago, but which somehow don’t seem the same now I walk them alone.
I pass a group of friends as I continue on my way – seven or eight of them, laughing and joking together; young, the age I was when I lived here with my friends – each one of them such a part of one another’s worlds. I hope to myself that they never lose each other. But a part of me knows that time will part them in the end.
Before I know it, I’m in the market square. There’s no market, so the space looks vast and empty. I’m pleased to see that the building works that had been happening last time I was here are finished, and the place has retained the olde worlde charm that had once made it one of my favourite places. I cross the square and take a seat at a table outside the café we used to come to every night.
At a table across from me, a young couple sit, wrapped up warm under the heat lamps, arms draped around one another, talking in the way you do when you’re talking to the only person in the world who matters to you. Their smiles light up the darkening afternoon. I look across the square to the clock – half an hour to go till 4 o’clock – there won’t be a lot of light left in this day.
The café is busy – but then it always was. Most of the tables are occupied with people, and as I wait for a waiter to take my order, I marvel at all the connections that exist between these people. Sometimes, I think that all the connections I’m ever going to experience have already happened – that somehow I’m no longer capable of connecting with anybody. Other times I wonder if I’ve ever really connected with anyone at all. I look again at the couple in love, but they don’t make me happy.
The waiter comes and takes my order. Hot lemon. One of my favourite drinks. I like how the bitter taste lays on my tongue, and the warmth it brings is something I need more than I can say. My drink arrives before long – I munch absently at the little biscuit on the side of the saucer, and sip my drink slowly, looking around me at all the chatting people, wondering how conversations start.
A young man walking past the café alone catches my eye. For a moment, I think he might be the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. But the moment passes, and he is gone.
I manage to catch the waiter’s eye, and pay for my drink. He seems friendly, so I leave a small tip, remembering the customs of this city, and I get up and walk away, the conversations in the café indistinguishable from the conversations in my memory, both bleeding into silence as I go.
Knowing I’ve not got much of the evening left, I decide to see the sunset from the highest place I can think of – this city, the place I loved so much, the place that holds so many memories for me, deserves to be seen in its entirety on a night like this. Besides, I’ve never seen it from on high at night time before, and I guess it will be beautiful.
I make my way through the streets, past groups of people who’ve stopped to watch a street entertainer juggling sticks on fire, groups of people all together. I wonder where all the other lonely people go. The people who couldn’t connect. Or just chose not to. Or did, but had their connections cut. Maybe I’m the only one. That would make sense.
I eventually find what I’m looking for. I’d got lost for a moment there among the crowds. The entrance to the tower. It’s a great, monolithic building which dominates the skyline of the city, and if you pay a small fee, you can stand in the open air on the top floor and look out across the city. This is how I want to see the sunset. I go inside, and press the button for the lift.
**********
I’m on top of the tower now, looking out across the city. I buy a coffee from the small stall, somewhat surprised to find it still open, though I suppose there’s demand for hot drinks on cold nights like this.
I can see for miles. As the sun goes down, lights begin to shine inside a million windows, and I think about all the lives being lived out there, under the glare of those lights. Lives lived alone, lives lived together. Some of the lights shine brighter than others. Around me, there are a few others enjoying the view. A young couple, maybe seventeen or eighteen, arm in arm, drinking hot chocolate from small plastic beakers.
“Look,” says the boy, pushing a strand of blonde hair away from his eyes, “over there, you can see our house.”
“Let’s go home,” she says, smiling at him. They disappear down the stairs.
There’s an old man here as well.
“I’ve lived in this city all my life,” he says, to nobody in particular, “and I still think it’s beautiful.”
I agree with him, and wonder if I should say so. It occurs to me that maybe the old man is talking to me. But I’m not really in the mood for conversation. I gulp down the rest of my coffee and head back down into the city, to see what I can find.
AB
It’s late afternoon, around three o’clock, and it’s winter. There’s a chill in the air, but everything is crisp. The kind of day where there is no rain, no snow, just an ever present cold. Refreshing. I cross the road, dodging past the trams pulling in outside the station, and head towards the small park, through which, I remember, you can access the city centre.
The park is busy with people despite the time of year, and I walk past couples and families, heading for the city proper. Coming out of the other side of the park, I make my way through the familiar streets, streets I remember from long ago, but which somehow don’t seem the same now I walk them alone.
I pass a group of friends as I continue on my way – seven or eight of them, laughing and joking together; young, the age I was when I lived here with my friends – each one of them such a part of one another’s worlds. I hope to myself that they never lose each other. But a part of me knows that time will part them in the end.
Before I know it, I’m in the market square. There’s no market, so the space looks vast and empty. I’m pleased to see that the building works that had been happening last time I was here are finished, and the place has retained the olde worlde charm that had once made it one of my favourite places. I cross the square and take a seat at a table outside the café we used to come to every night.
At a table across from me, a young couple sit, wrapped up warm under the heat lamps, arms draped around one another, talking in the way you do when you’re talking to the only person in the world who matters to you. Their smiles light up the darkening afternoon. I look across the square to the clock – half an hour to go till 4 o’clock – there won’t be a lot of light left in this day.
The café is busy – but then it always was. Most of the tables are occupied with people, and as I wait for a waiter to take my order, I marvel at all the connections that exist between these people. Sometimes, I think that all the connections I’m ever going to experience have already happened – that somehow I’m no longer capable of connecting with anybody. Other times I wonder if I’ve ever really connected with anyone at all. I look again at the couple in love, but they don’t make me happy.
The waiter comes and takes my order. Hot lemon. One of my favourite drinks. I like how the bitter taste lays on my tongue, and the warmth it brings is something I need more than I can say. My drink arrives before long – I munch absently at the little biscuit on the side of the saucer, and sip my drink slowly, looking around me at all the chatting people, wondering how conversations start.
A young man walking past the café alone catches my eye. For a moment, I think he might be the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. But the moment passes, and he is gone.
I manage to catch the waiter’s eye, and pay for my drink. He seems friendly, so I leave a small tip, remembering the customs of this city, and I get up and walk away, the conversations in the café indistinguishable from the conversations in my memory, both bleeding into silence as I go.
Knowing I’ve not got much of the evening left, I decide to see the sunset from the highest place I can think of – this city, the place I loved so much, the place that holds so many memories for me, deserves to be seen in its entirety on a night like this. Besides, I’ve never seen it from on high at night time before, and I guess it will be beautiful.
I make my way through the streets, past groups of people who’ve stopped to watch a street entertainer juggling sticks on fire, groups of people all together. I wonder where all the other lonely people go. The people who couldn’t connect. Or just chose not to. Or did, but had their connections cut. Maybe I’m the only one. That would make sense.
I eventually find what I’m looking for. I’d got lost for a moment there among the crowds. The entrance to the tower. It’s a great, monolithic building which dominates the skyline of the city, and if you pay a small fee, you can stand in the open air on the top floor and look out across the city. This is how I want to see the sunset. I go inside, and press the button for the lift.
**********
I’m on top of the tower now, looking out across the city. I buy a coffee from the small stall, somewhat surprised to find it still open, though I suppose there’s demand for hot drinks on cold nights like this.
I can see for miles. As the sun goes down, lights begin to shine inside a million windows, and I think about all the lives being lived out there, under the glare of those lights. Lives lived alone, lives lived together. Some of the lights shine brighter than others. Around me, there are a few others enjoying the view. A young couple, maybe seventeen or eighteen, arm in arm, drinking hot chocolate from small plastic beakers.
“Look,” says the boy, pushing a strand of blonde hair away from his eyes, “over there, you can see our house.”
“Let’s go home,” she says, smiling at him. They disappear down the stairs.
There’s an old man here as well.
“I’ve lived in this city all my life,” he says, to nobody in particular, “and I still think it’s beautiful.”
I agree with him, and wonder if I should say so. It occurs to me that maybe the old man is talking to me. But I’m not really in the mood for conversation. I gulp down the rest of my coffee and head back down into the city, to see what I can find.
AB
Saturday 5 June 2010
For the Modern Age
If this is the modern age
And all the rage and hunger
To consume consumes you
Think of me.
I can't live for real
Cos I'm waiting for the bills to come in
And wondering where the money'll come from
To pay the price of peace.
And if this is my masterpiece,
It doesn't pay the bills
It just kills the pain for a while
Of having to smile and draw breath
Whilst counting down the days till death -
Like the morphene that she needed
As she was dying.
A part of me has never stopped crying.
So I'm no slave to rules of rhyme and rhythm
These poems are just my moments
I just live them.
If this is the modern age,
I do not want it.
And all the rage and hunger
To consume consumes you
Think of me.
I can't live for real
Cos I'm waiting for the bills to come in
And wondering where the money'll come from
To pay the price of peace.
And if this is my masterpiece,
It doesn't pay the bills
It just kills the pain for a while
Of having to smile and draw breath
Whilst counting down the days till death -
Like the morphene that she needed
As she was dying.
A part of me has never stopped crying.
So I'm no slave to rules of rhyme and rhythm
These poems are just my moments
I just live them.
If this is the modern age,
I do not want it.
To be with you
A dream, to be with you,
And lay all day
And say nothing
For there's nothing to be said.
Just in my head
The silent time,
When I'm alone but dream I'm not.
And lay all day
And say nothing
For there's nothing to be said.
Just in my head
The silent time,
When I'm alone but dream I'm not.
For my pen
Dear pen
Become my friend again
And help me spill my soul out on these pages
It's been a while
The longest mile
I've not put pen to paper now in ages.
I write now for a different world
Lament a life long gone
But pen, you're with me still,
And maybe there's still time to do
What must be done.
Dear pen
Become my friend again
It's like you never went
So I'll lament
The money I have spent
The path of life, so bent
And crooked now
I round the bend
I make it to the other end
And I'm still here, still writing, still somehow...
I never lost my voice
I just stayed silent through choice
But now I need you, pen, to face the world.
Dear pen
Become my friend again
And let these words be read aloud
And heard.
Become my friend again
And help me spill my soul out on these pages
It's been a while
The longest mile
I've not put pen to paper now in ages.
I write now for a different world
Lament a life long gone
But pen, you're with me still,
And maybe there's still time to do
What must be done.
Dear pen
Become my friend again
It's like you never went
So I'll lament
The money I have spent
The path of life, so bent
And crooked now
I round the bend
I make it to the other end
And I'm still here, still writing, still somehow...
I never lost my voice
I just stayed silent through choice
But now I need you, pen, to face the world.
Dear pen
Become my friend again
And let these words be read aloud
And heard.
Sunday 7 February 2010
Burning World
When the great industrial towers
Have crumbled into dust,
And the iron bridges gone
Into an amber orange rust,
When the roads are overgrown
With moss and ferns and lichen,
And the countryside is nothing more
Than ashen burning bracken
My love, still unrequited
Will burn up with the world.
Have crumbled into dust,
And the iron bridges gone
Into an amber orange rust,
When the roads are overgrown
With moss and ferns and lichen,
And the countryside is nothing more
Than ashen burning bracken
My love, still unrequited
Will burn up with the world.
Monday 1 February 2010
Goodbye - Story
GOODBYE
I was sitting on the bench at the top of the hill, looking down at the town I grew up in. The neat rows of houses, the familiar streets, cars and people going about their daily business. Over there, the woods where Mark and I used to play when we were younger. The same woods we'd had parties in when we were older, actually. Such a long time ago now.
It felt strange, sitting there on that bench, looking down at all that familiarity, and looking back at a life I'd once led. Each street, each pub, each shop, they all contained memories of my life so far; of growing up, of making friends, of the things we used to do. Normal things. Games of catch in the school playground. Chatting about last night's TV. Telling your friends your secrets. Well, some of them anyway.
I think I felt him behind me before I heard him. This hill, and its view of the town, had been a favourite place of ours when we were young. We'd used to talk about everything here. Or almost everything at any rate. We used to pretend sometimes that we were the only two people left alive in the whole world, the last survivors, looking out for each other.
"I didn't think you'd come," I said.
"Well you should have known better," he replied. He sat down on the bench beside me and shivered. "It's cold up here today."
"Yeah," I said, and as I said it I could see my breath steaming in front of me.
"You know, I'll really miss this place," he said.
"Nah, you'll be too busy in your new life," I said, trying to sound cheerful.
"Maybe," he said.
"When do you leave?" I asked.
"Tomorrow. Gemma's dad's taking us to the airport and then that's it. Off down under. Small ceremony, just family really, and then I start my job in a couple of weeks."
"Cool." I couldn't think of anything more to say.
"You know, I'm sorry, Drew, don't you?"
"Don't be silly," I said, "what have you got to be sorry for?"
"That I have to go. That I won't see you as much. That we ended up like this."
I knew what he meant, of course, but he had nothing to be sorry for. Gemma, his wife to be, and I had been friends once, too, but everything just got too complicated. I mean, we all used to hang out, but I hadn't seen much of them lately. It was only because Dave had told me they were leaving that I'd texted him, asking him to come to the bench. I needed to say goodbye to my best friend, no matter what had happened between us lately.
"You shouldn't be sorry," I said, "you fell in love. That's a good thing. I'm happy for you."
"Yeah," he said, "but I never wanted the thing with me and Gemma to come between us, mate, and it has." As he said this, he put his hand on my shoulder and I flinched. "Mate, what's the matter, what's wrong?"
"I'm just gonna miss you, that's all," I said with a sigh. "But I am happy for you, really." I looked him straight in the eye – those big, blue eyes I remember from when we were children, always full of sparkle and mischief.
"Thank you," he said, and he meant it. "It'll happen for you too some day," he said, brightly, "you'll find someone special. You know you will."
This I didn't want to hear. People in couples have a horrible habit of telling me that, and while the sentiment is usually sound, I usually just think they're saying it to make themselves feel better. But Mark meant no harm, of course, he could never mean harm to anyone. So I just smiled and said, "maybe".
"Oh you will, Drew," he said, "you're a cool guy, there's gonna be someone out there for you."
"Mark, can we not have this conversation?" I said, "No offence, I know you're trying to be nice or whatever, but I don't want to think about stuff like that, let alone talk about it."
He sighed, then, and we both sat silently for a couple of minutes, watching as the sun started to set above the town.
It was Mark who broke the silence. "You know, Drew, for all the years we've been friends, sometimes I feel like I don't know you."
"You do know me," I said, "you know everything there is to know."
"Maybe," he said, "but I just wish you'd say what you were feeling sometimes. I wish you trusted me more."
"You know I trust you," I said, but I knew where he was heading, and I didn't really want to go there. I knew that all it would lead to would be a painful discussion and no fairytale ending.
"Drew," he said, and again he fixed me in his blue eyed stare, "I'm leaving for Australia tomorrow. I'm going to marry the woman I love, and I'm so happy. And that's why I'm sorry. Cos I know you're not happy, and you can't be fully happy for me, and that cuts me up, man, cos we used to do everything together, and now I'm moving away and I'm hurting you and you're my best friend and I should be sharing this with you and it's just so fucking wrong…"
As he said this, he started to cry, and I just wanted to hold him, like I had the night his mum had passed away, I wanted to comfort him, and I knew then that he knew everything and I thought I should have told him a long time ago so we could have worked through it and it wouldn't have to end like this, but it was too late. Much too late.
"Hey," I said, looking straight at him, "I know it's crap. And I know you know me, and I get that you know why this is so hard for me but you have to live your life, man. Gemma and you are great, you'll have a wicked time in Australia, you'll have a good life. But you can't worry about me. We'll say goodbye here tonight and then we'll both get on with our lives. Nothing wrong with that. We're not kids anymore."
"But I still need my best mate," he said, "I've missed you these last months, I'll miss you more when we're away."
"You'll have Gemma," I said, "you'll be OK."
He smiled, and so did I, but we were just hiding behind them.
By now the sun had all but vanished behind the town. The air was cool, and we sat there on that bench and we talked about the old days and the years just melted away. We were ten again, chatting about our latest computer games, about the film we wanted to see at the weekend, about lighter things from an easier time. I don't know how long we'd been there when his phone rang.
"Hey," he said, "yeah I'll be back soon. Just saying goodbye to Drew. Yeah, I will. See you later. Love you too. Bye."
"She OK?" I asked.
"Yeah," he smiled, "she sends her love."
"That's nice."
"Look, Drew," he said, "I'm gonna have to go mate. Early start and all that."
"Fresh start, too," I said, and I got up with him. We looked down at the town again, and he pulled me into a hug. Now it was my turn to cry. I couldn't stop sobbing. Here I was with my best friend in the world, tomorrow he was off on his adventure, into his new life and I knew I'd not see him again, that I wouldn't be able to even if the invite was there.
"Hey," he said, "you'll be all right too you know? Maybe you just need to move away as well. Get out of this place. Find yourself."
"Maybe," I said, breaking the hug and coming round a bit, "maybe I will."
He smiled then. "I really do have to go, Drew. You gonna walk with me?"
"No," I said, "I wanna sit here a bit more. Watch the lights."
He smiled. "Well, goodbye then," he said.
"Bye mate."
He turned to go. I knew this was it. This was the last time we'd see each other. And even though I know he knew, I told him anyway.
"I love you, Mark."
He turned round again, and looked at me with a smile. "I know, Drew," he said, "I know. And you know I love you too, yeah?"
"Yeah," I said, smiling a sad smile, "yeah I know you do. But not in the same way."
"I'm sorry," he said, "I wish we'd talked about this a long time ago, I just never had the balls to bring it up."
"Well, it wouldn't have made any difference," I said.
"Maybe not," he replied, "but maybe I could have made you feel better. So I am sorry."
"Don't be," I said, "I'm not. I wouldn't have changed any of it, Mark. You've been a great friend. The best."
"You too, mate," he said, and he walked back and gave me one final hug. I wish I could have held him like that forever, but he had to go.
"Goodbye, Drew," he said.
He turned and walked away, back towards the town, towards the lights.
AB
I was sitting on the bench at the top of the hill, looking down at the town I grew up in. The neat rows of houses, the familiar streets, cars and people going about their daily business. Over there, the woods where Mark and I used to play when we were younger. The same woods we'd had parties in when we were older, actually. Such a long time ago now.
It felt strange, sitting there on that bench, looking down at all that familiarity, and looking back at a life I'd once led. Each street, each pub, each shop, they all contained memories of my life so far; of growing up, of making friends, of the things we used to do. Normal things. Games of catch in the school playground. Chatting about last night's TV. Telling your friends your secrets. Well, some of them anyway.
I think I felt him behind me before I heard him. This hill, and its view of the town, had been a favourite place of ours when we were young. We'd used to talk about everything here. Or almost everything at any rate. We used to pretend sometimes that we were the only two people left alive in the whole world, the last survivors, looking out for each other.
"I didn't think you'd come," I said.
"Well you should have known better," he replied. He sat down on the bench beside me and shivered. "It's cold up here today."
"Yeah," I said, and as I said it I could see my breath steaming in front of me.
"You know, I'll really miss this place," he said.
"Nah, you'll be too busy in your new life," I said, trying to sound cheerful.
"Maybe," he said.
"When do you leave?" I asked.
"Tomorrow. Gemma's dad's taking us to the airport and then that's it. Off down under. Small ceremony, just family really, and then I start my job in a couple of weeks."
"Cool." I couldn't think of anything more to say.
"You know, I'm sorry, Drew, don't you?"
"Don't be silly," I said, "what have you got to be sorry for?"
"That I have to go. That I won't see you as much. That we ended up like this."
I knew what he meant, of course, but he had nothing to be sorry for. Gemma, his wife to be, and I had been friends once, too, but everything just got too complicated. I mean, we all used to hang out, but I hadn't seen much of them lately. It was only because Dave had told me they were leaving that I'd texted him, asking him to come to the bench. I needed to say goodbye to my best friend, no matter what had happened between us lately.
"You shouldn't be sorry," I said, "you fell in love. That's a good thing. I'm happy for you."
"Yeah," he said, "but I never wanted the thing with me and Gemma to come between us, mate, and it has." As he said this, he put his hand on my shoulder and I flinched. "Mate, what's the matter, what's wrong?"
"I'm just gonna miss you, that's all," I said with a sigh. "But I am happy for you, really." I looked him straight in the eye – those big, blue eyes I remember from when we were children, always full of sparkle and mischief.
"Thank you," he said, and he meant it. "It'll happen for you too some day," he said, brightly, "you'll find someone special. You know you will."
This I didn't want to hear. People in couples have a horrible habit of telling me that, and while the sentiment is usually sound, I usually just think they're saying it to make themselves feel better. But Mark meant no harm, of course, he could never mean harm to anyone. So I just smiled and said, "maybe".
"Oh you will, Drew," he said, "you're a cool guy, there's gonna be someone out there for you."
"Mark, can we not have this conversation?" I said, "No offence, I know you're trying to be nice or whatever, but I don't want to think about stuff like that, let alone talk about it."
He sighed, then, and we both sat silently for a couple of minutes, watching as the sun started to set above the town.
It was Mark who broke the silence. "You know, Drew, for all the years we've been friends, sometimes I feel like I don't know you."
"You do know me," I said, "you know everything there is to know."
"Maybe," he said, "but I just wish you'd say what you were feeling sometimes. I wish you trusted me more."
"You know I trust you," I said, but I knew where he was heading, and I didn't really want to go there. I knew that all it would lead to would be a painful discussion and no fairytale ending.
"Drew," he said, and again he fixed me in his blue eyed stare, "I'm leaving for Australia tomorrow. I'm going to marry the woman I love, and I'm so happy. And that's why I'm sorry. Cos I know you're not happy, and you can't be fully happy for me, and that cuts me up, man, cos we used to do everything together, and now I'm moving away and I'm hurting you and you're my best friend and I should be sharing this with you and it's just so fucking wrong…"
As he said this, he started to cry, and I just wanted to hold him, like I had the night his mum had passed away, I wanted to comfort him, and I knew then that he knew everything and I thought I should have told him a long time ago so we could have worked through it and it wouldn't have to end like this, but it was too late. Much too late.
"Hey," I said, looking straight at him, "I know it's crap. And I know you know me, and I get that you know why this is so hard for me but you have to live your life, man. Gemma and you are great, you'll have a wicked time in Australia, you'll have a good life. But you can't worry about me. We'll say goodbye here tonight and then we'll both get on with our lives. Nothing wrong with that. We're not kids anymore."
"But I still need my best mate," he said, "I've missed you these last months, I'll miss you more when we're away."
"You'll have Gemma," I said, "you'll be OK."
He smiled, and so did I, but we were just hiding behind them.
By now the sun had all but vanished behind the town. The air was cool, and we sat there on that bench and we talked about the old days and the years just melted away. We were ten again, chatting about our latest computer games, about the film we wanted to see at the weekend, about lighter things from an easier time. I don't know how long we'd been there when his phone rang.
"Hey," he said, "yeah I'll be back soon. Just saying goodbye to Drew. Yeah, I will. See you later. Love you too. Bye."
"She OK?" I asked.
"Yeah," he smiled, "she sends her love."
"That's nice."
"Look, Drew," he said, "I'm gonna have to go mate. Early start and all that."
"Fresh start, too," I said, and I got up with him. We looked down at the town again, and he pulled me into a hug. Now it was my turn to cry. I couldn't stop sobbing. Here I was with my best friend in the world, tomorrow he was off on his adventure, into his new life and I knew I'd not see him again, that I wouldn't be able to even if the invite was there.
"Hey," he said, "you'll be all right too you know? Maybe you just need to move away as well. Get out of this place. Find yourself."
"Maybe," I said, breaking the hug and coming round a bit, "maybe I will."
He smiled then. "I really do have to go, Drew. You gonna walk with me?"
"No," I said, "I wanna sit here a bit more. Watch the lights."
He smiled. "Well, goodbye then," he said.
"Bye mate."
He turned to go. I knew this was it. This was the last time we'd see each other. And even though I know he knew, I told him anyway.
"I love you, Mark."
He turned round again, and looked at me with a smile. "I know, Drew," he said, "I know. And you know I love you too, yeah?"
"Yeah," I said, smiling a sad smile, "yeah I know you do. But not in the same way."
"I'm sorry," he said, "I wish we'd talked about this a long time ago, I just never had the balls to bring it up."
"Well, it wouldn't have made any difference," I said.
"Maybe not," he replied, "but maybe I could have made you feel better. So I am sorry."
"Don't be," I said, "I'm not. I wouldn't have changed any of it, Mark. You've been a great friend. The best."
"You too, mate," he said, and he walked back and gave me one final hug. I wish I could have held him like that forever, but he had to go.
"Goodbye, Drew," he said.
He turned and walked away, back towards the town, towards the lights.
AB
To begin...
Welcome, welcome!
So, the idea of this blog basically is to get me writing again, get the creative juices flowing, and give me somewhere to publish stuff. I'll be posting stories, random thoughts and musings and the odd bit of poetry. There will no doubt emerge a few disparate, loose themes, as my mind is preoccupied with the concerns of everyday life.
Maybe people will read it, maybe not - but if you do, feel free to comment and keep checking back.
Andrew
So, the idea of this blog basically is to get me writing again, get the creative juices flowing, and give me somewhere to publish stuff. I'll be posting stories, random thoughts and musings and the odd bit of poetry. There will no doubt emerge a few disparate, loose themes, as my mind is preoccupied with the concerns of everyday life.
Maybe people will read it, maybe not - but if you do, feel free to comment and keep checking back.
Andrew
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