2.

There’s a hopelessness in this, you and me.

Fate and time tend to conspire, perspire, transpire to make things difficult or challenging (as we are meant to call it these days …). You stand there, horses at the ready, troops armed, hearts on sleeve, on standby, to charge over mountains, through rivers and trample upon god knows what poor piece of blameless foliage in declaration of love, affection, intentions or other sickly sentiments.

Whereas I,

(with court jester at my side, ready for kicking) hands in pockets and quietly skulking,

prefer a quieter approach.

Less champagne and dinners and more bottle of cheap wine or can of beer on a park bench.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate you, I mean, we’ve been together these 30 years. Most of it with you driving me crazy. The little hints of doubt you like to seed, the wild flights of fancy you take off on. Straining my imagination when I need it elsewhere. Distracting, protracting, simmering, simpering, obsessing and not progressing to any useful revelation or insight that could be of help.

Little brain of mine, you like to over inflate and calculate, getting ahead of yourself with all the stories and none of the facts collating, debating and some how equating that 1 + 1 = 942 (and you know you forgot to carry the 3 in there somewhere).

When all I want to do is play it COOL. Take things as they come, to let it be all sweet as, no worries, no hurries, it’s all good. Nothing to read here, nothing to see other than I like him and, I think, he likes me.

‘Tee hee, you like him’

‘No I don’t, fuck off’

And so it goes on, you and me, an epic battle of wills, pistols at dawn, drawn, ready to shoot, ready to kill and cast off this useless bit that takes me beyond all matter of reason. There will be only one victor / one warrior / one winner …

And it’s going to be me, god dammit!

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