Oh lordy. So I cried all the way home on the tube again. Then a bit of a weep in Sainsburys. Then some unashamed sobbing on the way home. Wretched.
First of all, the stars still appear to be thinking of me:
Yep it hurts. But you know what? You’re big enough to take it. Whatever blow life has dealt you, you need to remind yourself that you’ve dealt with worse things in the past – and what’s more, you’ve dealt with them better than other people would. Deep breath, best foot forward. You can do this!
I’d probably find this easier to believe if reading the above hadn’t provoked a fresh onslaught of tears as I wallowed in the pathos of it all.
So what precipitated this latest public outpouring of grief? I saw him on a train. That’s it. 5 months and counting and the mere proximity of him can still utterly floor and devastate me. This is not progress.
I’d actually counted myself lucky as I left work at the comparatively early hour of 18:53. This was a solid hour before my current usual leaving time. I looked forward to the sheer luxury of eating my supper before 9pm and positively skipped along the platform. Halfway along, I realised that He was standing directly opposite where I would normally stand. Do or dare moment… Part of me didn’t want to deal with having to face him, but equally, I’d (so many months ago now) told him off for avoiding me, assuring him that things weren’t so bad that he had to hide behind a phone box to avoid me then I had to lead by example. So, having faltered momentarily, I strode along to my usual spot, but stood just behind someone taller than me, so at least we didn’t have to play glance-avoidance-tag. 1 minute until the train arrived… He was on the phone. To who? To some fabulous, flawless improvement on me? Imagination running wild, heart in my mouth, frantically wondering if I look ok? I do, but realise I’m wearing a jacket I bought when he and I were on holiday together. Will he remember? Train pulls in…
No seats, no seats, where to stand? I duck to the left, where there’s no room to stand near me. My heart is hammering. What to do? Don’t want him to speak to me. Don’t want him not to. He ‘s 5 foot away, maybe closer. We exchange glances, the first time in all of this that we look at one another. He smiles, I smile quickly, then bury my head in the free paper. He has the Standard, as ever. Always reading from the back because Sport’s more important than Real News. No, wait, now he’s texting. You just got off the phone, who’s this now??? Maybe he’s texting me? Phone remains resolutely silent. And so the train trundles on. Past the place that we first kissed. Past the roads we’d walked along together so many times, platforms that we’s waited on together. I keep hoping against hope that he’ll make his way across the carriage and tell me that he’s miserable and lost without me. But equally, I don’t want him to come over unless that’s what he’s going to say. I don’t care how he is or what he’s been doing. I don’t want to hear anything but that he misses me and he’s sorry.
But it’s not to be. And he doesn’t even look at me again. I can see him in the reflection of the window and keep peeking. Then overtly watching. Nothing. 3 stops into the journey, a bunch of people get off and I sink, relieved, into a seat. I can’t see him from here (i try, just to torture myself, but I can’t) so just get on with the rest of the journey. Although already, I’m stressing about what to do when the train terminates and we’ll both get off. Still desperately want a sign from him that the end of all of this is nigh and he’s coming back to me soon.
So, here we are. the end of the line. Oh, the parallels… I’m 2 foot away from him, he’s going to get off about 3 seconds before me. Will he wait, does he want to talk to me? He gets off… and keeps going. I follow, about 10 paces behind and watch as he walks up the escalator, no lingering here. I trail, devastated, in his wake. In Annoying Musical Coincidences, Amy Winehouse pipes on my ipod crooning Back To Black. Lip starts to wobble. But what if he’s had a change of heart and is waiting at the top of the escalator (does anyone else think that bit in Cruel Intentions is one of the most romantic celluloid moments ever?)? So I hold the tears in a little longer. No sign of him. I walk the length of the platform, still hoping against hope that he’ll be waiting for me at the end. No sign of him there either. My train pulls in, the doors shut and I finally break down, forced to realise that there’ll be no fairytale ending for me tonight. I want to die.
It’s a well-worn path, but I still don’t understand why he hasn’t had a change of heart. I just want him to want me back. I could write you a list as long as my arm, several arms, as to why it wouldn’t work and why I should just get on with getting under the next one, but I just won’t let myself move on. Instead, I’m stuck in this futile rut of longing and am fast becoming the engine of my own destruction. Why am I doing this to myself?
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