It’s the dead of night right now. And it’s just chucking down out there. I AM sitting in the fuliginous shadows of messy things in the room. And I’ve taken it into my head to drop you a line of late. It jogs my memories of the frosh year time, and of the first letter I wrote you. It comes so tangible in my mind that I will never send it. But I’m writing IT for certain of course, as it is an intrinsic need, just for the sake of my own noddle. Je m’en fous WHETHER it’s so discursive. I’m ‘bout to go nuts now I think.
Everything ‘bout you now serves as such kind of abysmally deep scars to me. The time of love, and peals of laughter. It also takes me back to the erstwhile tiffs with you, which always ended up in affectionate kisses and hugs. More often than not you complained that I had a senior moment, as a decrepit old man, and that, I was much a klutz. I told you my lurid dreams every morning we met. In those ones, you looked so resplendent, luscious, throwing me a lascivious wink.
It was brass monkeys those days. But we did cloak up in the atmosphere. You were so small and lovely a creature in the crook of my arm. I thought at that time (that) our destinies appeared to be entwined together.
ALL they have come flooding back, time on and on, in the canonical form.
You said that ”It’s very comme il faut. Everything will find its way then. And you’ll have a new paramour soon”. Somehow or other, I managed to force a deprecating smile. The realization dawned upon me with such a pang. I was ‘bout burst into tears at that time. My day has seemed to be numbered ever since.
I really wanted to get in a drunken stupor to blot out some thought of you that day. I knocked the hard stuff back in vain only then. Just got a little bit Brahms ‘n Liszt, and cried myself to sleep. The night was so sultry, and I stayed wide awake again. I did toss off and come to a sound sleep with clear, vivid images of YOU in mind. A whole slew of subsequent nights were exactly the same as THAT and I did suppose (that) I would be much a damn lush for any length of time if I had kept going on that way.
It was high time for me to wake up and smell the coffee, that you’re gone, for ever and ever. And that I would never be able to catch a sight of you, not for a long chalk. I had many a desperate go to get in touch with you. I WAS defeated, totally and ignominiously defeated.
I came back home for a little while to go to ground afterwards. A jaunt around the countryside was a balm for my weary, troubled soul I reckoned. But it did not work that much I must confess then. I once imagined that I would suffer from some sort of “anthropophobia”.
I’m leading such a cloistered life, you know. Now I’m gulping down ponds of coffee and working my butt off just to put you out of my mind honey. I just keep burying my nose in dead-tree books of all kinds and knuckle down to writing the rough draft of my first roman à clef, and for one thing, you are to be included therein. Only when I can’t open my bleary, dazed eyes do I take a snooze. And aside from all these things, I don’t know what to do but run my lolling tongue round all the corners on Facebook, to add “friends” that I’ve never known or talked to before. I can’t fathom the rationale behind all though. What the hell on that? I just then blame myself for something that I can’t make head nor tail of, as if it’s so obvious (that) my chickens have come to roost though.
I’m a geezer of loquacious manner for the time being with ingratiating, bland smiles always found on my face. But it pales by comparison with what you’ve left me with, the permanent solitude I HAVE TO experience, even I’m among a whole host of my guys. Occasionally, I find myself, at very short notice, swimming in THAT Sargasso Sea, chilled to the marrow, d’ you know that?
Nothing is on my mind now as though I am such a fucking pea-brained turd.
I’m waiting for you, darling!
Lots of love