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gull
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On the train from Basingstoke
I cried these silent tears,
tears that made my eyes burn.
I didn't sob or weep aloud,
I just let the tears run down my face.
They ran for almost an hour.
I hoped my eyes wouldn’t get puffy
because I didn’t want you
to think that I’d been crying.
After all, I’m so cool and tough.
Crying's not my thing, as you know.
And I thought about you
and what I’d say to you
when I got back to the apartment.
I scribbled down some lines
on a complementary magazine
(on an advert about car insurance)
so that I could read them back
and make sure it was all there.
I didn’t think that you'd be gone.
I didn’t think that you’d have left,
not without saying goodbye.
I thought we’d sit and talk.
I thought there'd be candles
and music and maybe incense.
I thought we’d apologise
for the things we said.
I thought we’d have seen
the error of our ways.
Maybe we’d argue in the process,
but I thought we’d work it out
and agree to give it one last try.
That was my hope, anyway.
You know, I’d have stayed
had you wanted me to stay,
but I know now (and I knew
that night I spent alone)
that you didn’t want that at all.
You really did want me to leave.
When you said that you
wanted me out of your life,
you really meant it, you really did.
You meant it with all your heart,
even though I hoped you didn’t.
I hoped that it was just
one of those things we say
in the heat of the moment,
when we’re angry and
full of venom and we’re trying
so hard to hurt one another
with our poisonous words,
because words can hurt.
We both know that, don‘t we?
We’ve hurt others with words
and others have hurt us the same.
I thought it was just like me
calling you a ‘blood sucker’,
which I didn’t mean at all.
God knows, I didn’t mean that.
You’re not a blood sucker.
You’ve drawn things from me, yes.
Tears, truth, secrets, demons.
How could I call you such a thing?
I really wish I hadn’t said that.
If I could turn back time, I would.
It was very wrong and I’m so sorry.
And I wish I hadn’t said that
it had all been a waste of time -
being with you, talking to you,
sharing things with you.
If it really was such a waste,
why did I need it, crave it,
ask for it at ridiculous times?
It was the highlight of my day.
If it really was a waste, then
every single thing in the whole
damn world must be a waste, too.
I did want to hurt you
because you’d hurt me.
I know that’s pretty stupid.
We’re not children, after all.
“I don’t like you” was
like a dagger through my heart.
And if it didn't hurt, I'd laugh,
because the weird thing is,
you thought I didn’t like you!
You didn’t believe me
when I said that I did, that I do.
I’m sorry for wanting to hurt you.
It’s a dreadful thing to admit
and I hope you can forgive me,
as I hope you can forgive me for
saying such ludicrous things to you,
such wild, temperamental nonsense.
I can forgive you. I never really
held anything against you, anyway,
not even when people say that I was
a fool to even draw up such a plan
and that I’ve been duly screwed.
The last thing I said to you
was such a terrible thing.
It should have been “goodbye”
but we both know that it wasn’t.
You deserved a tearful farewell,
Yet now I’m here, alone, filling up
with more burning acidic tears
because I feel so awful
about the way we parted,
about letting you down,
about spoiling everything.
I saw you leave that morning.
I was standing in the window.
I think you saw me.
I should have smiled, or waved.
What I really should have done
was rush outside and say
that I’d be leaving soon,
that I was sorry about
what I said that wicked night
and that I wanted to say goodbye.
But I was too weak or too stubborn.
It’s been a week and I still
think about the things I did,
and the things I didn’t, do.
It’s funny how sometimes
the things we chose to ignore
cause us more pain in the long term
than the things we actually do.
I should have been more open
and relaxed and honest.
I should have been less uptight
and fussy and problematic.
I wanted to write you a letter,
a real hand-written letter,
and leave it for you
to find when I’d gone,
but I still can’t hold a pen.
That scribbled note
I pushed through your door
was all I could manage.
(I wonder what you did to that.
Did you rip it into a dozen pieces
and scatter them in the fire?)
I probably don’t deserve
to be on your list
of friendships lost.
It was very arrogant of me
to suggest that I’d soon be there
with people you genuinely miss -
people who are better than me.
And what was worse still,
was the way I implied that you’d
killed those friendships
by treating them as you treated me.
You’re right, we’re too alike.
I see myself in you
and you see yourself in me.
I’ve said before that I don't
want you to smash the mirror,
but does it matter anymore?
You said I’m a contradiction,
I said you’re a time bomb
that’s waiting to explode.
You’re as much a contradiction as I,
and I’m as much a time bomb as you.
But the secret about bombs
is the way you deal with them.
Whereas you stood well back
and let me fizzle myself out,
I hung around and I poured fuel
on your flames to prolong the misery.
I never did know how to back down.
I just couldn’t shut my mouth
and let what was gone go.
I was so argumentative,
and so bloody hot-tempered.
But believe me when I say that
I’ve never felt as close to anyone
as I felt, and still feel, to you.
And I swear that if I could
salvage just one friendship
out of all the ones
that have passed me by,
I’d chose what we had
in the good-old-days
before we got too close
and tried the impossible.
I don’t regret those weeks,
because there were
good times amongst the bad.
I’m just sorry that
we couldn’t make it work,
because we did try,
i know we tried.
maybe, if only we’d tried
that little bit harder... Who knows?
Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.
And maybe pondering is futile.
But if you pick up the phone and call,
or grab a pen and some paper and write,
or go to that cafe and e-mail me,
I'll be here for you, no matter what.
He'll be here too, faithful as ever.
He united us in the first place.
Maybe we don't need him,
but we do want him, don't we?
(And I don’t envy him. I love him.)
He belongs to us, we made him,
and I, for one, always relied upon him.
I relied upon this place, too.
I said I didn't need it, that I resented
the fact that I used it extensively
to pour out my muddled feelings for you,
but I'm very grateful for it.
If you take just a few moments
to read my old words, you'll see.
It helped our friendship.
We needed it back there.
I needed it, as it was my only way
of being sensitive and expressive.
I’m sorry I couldn’t
live up to your expectations.
I’m sorry I couldn’t
make you like me enough.
I’m sorry I couldn’t
shut my mouth when we needed silence.
I’m sorry I couldn’t
put honesty before politeness.
I’m sorry I couldn’t make it work.
And I’m so sorry I left
without saying goodbye.
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020428
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