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| The bar is dark, coloured lights spiralling out of control like the hazed teenagers that treat themselves to shot after shot after shot. Music thrives throughout the building, slow songs remixed to create an atmosphere that matches up perfectly to how we all feel- let’s dance til we’re fucking dead. There’s a guy. Nose piercing, cheeky smirk and a rough accent that complains about not getting served even though he’s “fuckin' older than you… how old are you again?” He dances like a knob, fist made and waving circles in the air and of course, I replicate it, making eye contact all the while, head matching the beat of the bass that is felt in my chest. Eyes flutter closed and he laughs the laugh of someone who’s looking a kiss, maybe more, and perhaps had one too many of whatever he decided to drink to get through the night. “You look like you’re gonna fall asleep” “I’m fucking gone mate.” It’s easy to laugh this way, free of every worry, of any thoughts other than ‘I’m going to kiss him even if it kills me’. I lean in, having played this part one too many times and smile in his face. A hand subjected to the atrocity of false nails meets his jaw and we lean further, becoming one, becoming dizzy, becoming lost. It lasted seconds, it lasted hours and when I open my eyes he smirks and continues his dance. I float away. You’re there too of course. You and your girlfriend stand at a bar, her friend’s frequent glances at me accompanied with whispers in my supposed ‘opponents’ ear and I shut my eyes, shut them out and allow the coloured lights to consume every fibre of my being, I am the music and I am the dancefloor. It isn’t a confession when I tell you I kissed him because I knew you were looking. I knew you were next to me and I knew you’d care. You kissed her in front of me immediately after, a supposed act of revenge but it was petty and futile because I know you and I know you’re just jealous and you always will be. You prove to me that while I’ll have tonight, you’ll have tomorrow morning, tomorrow night, next week, next month, next year if it goes like you planned. A secret part of me hurts because of it, but I smile at you to convey a happiness that I found deep in a part of my soul, a part that loves you and just wants you to feel the happiness you were never going to find with me, and I would never find with you. But you win and you may feel like that is a first, but you always win, mate. You were always better. You’ll have her to the end of time if you so wish but me? I figure you’re the only person I’ll ever truly want, so I’ll settle for a different James, Jim, Daniel each time I go out, each time I’m drunk enough, confident enough to shameless shake my arse in the form of a mating call. Come to me, oh random dark-haired fellow, save me from my despair, for I am in love with an asshole who may return such affection, but we mustn’t act on it, distract me from the hurt that forever resides in my mind and my heart, for my true love will never be mine and I will always be his. Poetry isn’t a strong suit, but I will always romanticise our relationship in the form of a coping mechanism because one day I’ll face the reality of us, the hurt that we cause each other and the dramatics we inevitably draw out, but today isn’t that day and tomorrow isn’t looking good either. |
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