Absentee.
Fragments.
I have contemplated running from Brendon a million times.
I mean really running, so fast that I may catch air to Melbourne, or Florence and leave Brendon and his deafening silence behind.
I find myself thinking and re-thinking that I can't live with this fragmented relationship - bits and pieces here and there, good and bad mismatched into hopeless confusion. It's built up of falsities and games, warmth and unsettling half-truths. If I try much harder to figure his mind out, my own mind will unravel, and become just as fragmented as all that Brendon and I are.
After the fourth glass of cava alone in my flat, I always ponder what exactly it is that holds me so firmly to him anyway. Sometimes I think it may be the hope that one day he'll let me tear down the veil between us, and let me see him as a bare person.
Other times, more often than not, I think it's probably just his eyes that I find myself loving Brendon for.
The colour, a crystal class of cola, held up to the sun in a toast.
And then I wake up in the morning with my sheets tangled, a dry mouth and a bad hangover, and all that I am is hopeful and ignorant again.
I mean really running, so fast that I may catch air to Melbourne, or Florence and leave Brendon and his deafening silence behind.
I find myself thinking and re-thinking that I can't live with this fragmented relationship - bits and pieces here and there, good and bad mismatched into hopeless confusion. It's built up of falsities and games, warmth and unsettling half-truths. If I try much harder to figure his mind out, my own mind will unravel, and become just as fragmented as all that Brendon and I are.
After the fourth glass of cava alone in my flat, I always ponder what exactly it is that holds me so firmly to him anyway. Sometimes I think it may be the hope that one day he'll let me tear down the veil between us, and let me see him as a bare person.
Other times, more often than not, I think it's probably just his eyes that I find myself loving Brendon for.
The colour, a crystal class of cola, held up to the sun in a toast.
And then I wake up in the morning with my sheets tangled, a dry mouth and a bad hangover, and all that I am is hopeful and ignorant again.