Waited too long. She got up and then I was too late. Not even a look. Just as well. Maybe tomorrow.
Bought coffee after that, and eggs. That doesn’t belong here.
Different clothes. Not too close to the water now, notice that I’ve moved over to the roses. The book worked, calmed me down too. A woman, way too much make-up for a morning with the dog, smiled at me. Grey in her parting, the rest blonde,
plastic gloves with blonde, wet hair, naked in the bathroom, look in the mirror, I’m standing behind you, I’ll keep you blonde without gloves, your heavy breasts and dark nipples Attack of sweating, arms like lead, she walked past me, her buttocks making her long coat billow out, should have said something about her boots. Note for next time, pay close attention to clothes, those first words have to surprise, prepare them. At home, tore off some skin when I removed the tape. Must get that expensive stuff, no one wants to see me bleeding.
Bad weather. Not a problem for me. I can look through any sort of cover. Posted a story this morning, my best so far, I think (no one else bothers with paragraphs, but I do!), don’t look to see what the counter says all the time, wait a week, keep it up. A group of joggers, I shouted something that made them laugh. Lots of ponytails. What they were wearing felt recently bought. I started sweating a lot, those Decathlon leggings are perfect. Watched videos on that bench near the exposed bend, mustn’t do that again, far too expensive, had the sound on loud, no one stopped to share the fun.
Not been for a week. Which is good. Paused behind the trees by that house that appeared on the Funda website today though, someone could have seen me, someone could be standing there every day, keeping an eye on everything, the windows are so dark that you wouldn’t notice anyone watching. I made the gesture, maybe it will lead somewhere. In the bushes, beyond the drunks, I found a folded blanket, no condoms anywhere, instantly started sweating. The blanket’s in the small room now. Vomited.
She was comforting her girlfriend, I could already sense it. They were scratching each other with their wild claws. They didn’t mind when I came to stand by them. I understood their relief, finally someone who saw it.
Lay in bed, couldn’t move my arms from my body, what if you never really die, just lie paralysed somewhere and can’t do anything to stop your funeral. Gianna, can you hear me? Help me, free me, carry me from the bed, rock me back to life. What a day, so many looks, I’ve discovered the right combination.
An invitation, I recognised it instantly, no gestures needed. She walked ahead of me along the path with the open wounds of the exposed tree roots. Curls that she’d probably call waves veiled her shoulders, she was dressed in brown, an unexpected colour. The walk became longer and longer, but that felt right. I felt right. By the rhododendrons, of course, you won’t find the same protection anywhere else around here now, the rest has all been laid bare by pruning. She took her place, that’s how to describe it, as if it had already been decided where she would receive me. I still remember all of her words, no need to write them down here, they’re alive inside a better memory. But it’s true, I promised to give her a child and after a long time (she knew exactly what to whisper, what would drive me deeper between her thighs, what would entice me ever more urgently into her, as if she wanted me to betray our hiding place with my screams) spent fucking under the thrilling threat of discovery, the moment came when she swiftly used her hand as a lid to keep my sperm inside her. Later I wanted to go and help her to her feet, but she had already run away from me. Perhaps I had taken too long over my clothes. No one noticed anything about me for the rest of that day. They just didn’t dare to look, that must have been it.
No space anywhere. I tried I don’t know what I tried I didn’t look weird I’d taken a mat and a water bottle just like everyone else my clothes looked like everyone else’s walking was hard enough impossibly long legs blocking the way everywhere all those soft hollows at the back of knees and those tender blue veins I lost my way the sweating didn’t help anymore I was afraid of falling if I interrupted anything they’d kill me I had to get away from there away from all those legs and backs they’d stopped looking through me it had worn off I didn’t want to fight I escaped the houses were so much taller than the trees I raced through the gate it had worn off cried this wasn’t yesterday stared endlessly at screen for days and days after that jerked off she kept me awake to get me away from it.
I see a lot of people meeting. No doubt I often get it wrong, but sometimes I think I manage to figure out what’s going on. How long they’ve known each other, for instance, their attitude and behaviour, the revealing position of their arms and eyes. Or the reason for all that public awkwardness, the hope that only makes this waiting time among the bare branches all the more painful, sometimes I find it hard not to cry
it’s not about me. It doesn’t matter, it’s a useful place, the right setting for this. My house has become a thin case for the screen, making it a strange sort of greenhouse, I assume it’s the same everywhere, in that respect I’m like everyone else, fleeing my own broken walls. While life here happens in plain sight, as it did a hundred years ago. Even the cameras on all those cold posts can’t change that. Now and then I make the gesture to one of those dead eyes, showing her that I’m still here. Could this be my job? Waving up and giving someone the task of watching me again?