That Other Journal, right there, right then
Darn.
Darn, darn, darn, darn, darn. I just can't get that man out of my head. Man? More like a boy, take Peter Pan and give him dreads, and glasses and some pain creeping into the tight skin around his eyes, and there's that man. I've known him for so long now...impossibally long, which is why it would be impossible for me to even think about finding him, speaking to him, seeing him again.
That's why I stepped backwards not forward, hitting shoulders with a skipmy skirted waitress, pushing the crowds aside, hiding back deep inside my hood and cloak and leaving the club by a back entrance.
Where was he before? When she needed him to get her on track? He didn't care for her then, and didn't steal, beg, fight his way to find her. Stupid man. Stupid.
I saw him again today. In a cafe, drinking coffee, cappachino I think. The foam stuck to his lip, and he laughed and wiped it off. He was there with some friends. I was in a taxi, waiting for Mr R. Why would I see him two days in a row?
Why???
Is it a sign?
Love,
Me