The Life Possible

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Four years ago today I hit publish on my first blog posts. My flatmate posted the link on a forum for tech-heads (not my target audience) and the feedback was… mainly about my choice of font. So I kept going, in the same font.

If my day job’s taught me anything (moot point) it’s that every anniversary, however insignificant, is something to build a marketing campaign around. I’ll spare you the marketing campaign and instead share with you the thoughts and words that have struck me most since starting the blog. It’s a mix of the new, the familiar and the random…

On relationships

‘You meet, you become lovers, and then you get to know each other, and then, if it works, it might become a relationship, but not necessarily. More often than not, it doesn’t work.’

CC Image courtesy of Alachua Country on Flickr

On love

‘I knew in my stomach. And also because I found myself willing to do almost anything for her and to see her prosper and be merry.’

CC Image courtesy of Candida.Performa on Flickr

On Berlin

‘I like the life possible there.’

(I said it was random.)

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The Sound of Silence

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CC Image courtesy of H.J.Righolt on Flickr‘How was your wedding? Not your wedding…’

I laugh. ‘No. Yeah it was fine.’

I try to think of something funny or interesting that happened, besides slicing my legs open with a men’s razor in my haste to get ready, calling for a very attractive patchwork of plasters.

‘How was the party?’ I wind up.

 

I’d missed Tristan‘s house party for the wedding – a couple I knew from university. For the first two years of our degree he had a long-term girlfriend and she we pined. For the third year, they dated and, on graduating, moved in together. She looked radiant with happiness standing opposite him at the altar.

 

‘It was good,’ Tristan says. I get the feeling he’s also struggling for material.

There’s a pause as we apply ourselves to our lunch.

‘So did you meet anyone?’ he says.

I frown. ‘You mean…?’

‘Did you meet the love of your life?’

I laugh. ‘Well I only had about four men to choose from! There was one guy – he had his own mobile home – but he wasn’t the most interesting company. Actually the bride messaged me today saying ‘I hear there was some excitement’ and offering to help, which was very sweet given she’s on honeymoon. But anyway, she misread the situation…’

So much for confining myself to the funny or interesting.

What the bride had actually said was ‘I hear there might be something for the blog’, but Tristan doesn’t need to know this. He’s not listening anyway; at ‘mobile home’ he’d started to laugh.

‘Was he wearing a wife-beater?’ he says. ‘And did he have long sideburns?’

‘No,’ I say, also laughing. ‘He was quite good-looking, but that’s pretty much all he had going for him.’

I could go on, tell him how the groom had come over to us and said with a meaningful look in Mobile Home’s direction, ‘I don’t think Anna needs to worry about accommodation tonight.’

How, faced with the story of my taxi crisis, Mobile Home had offered me a cup of tea in his van (he preferred to call it ‘The Van’).

How I declined in favour of a good night’s sleep, went home to my own mobile home and cried for I don’t know what.

There’s another pause.

‘Tell me more about the party,’ I say.

CC Image courtesy of Nic Taylor Photography on Flickr

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The Million Dollar Question

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CC Image courtesy of jaumescar on FlickrNovember 2015

‘Fuckery.’

That’s Lucy‘s analysis of his behaviour, delivered after three cocktails. I sit there, grinning, probably because I’ve also had three cocktails.

Adrien, presented with the same facts, brands Viable Prospect ‘indecisive’ and ‘twatty’.

‘You have two choices,’ he says. ‘You can reply, saying, ‘Sup m8 let’s go for drink/shag’.’

Hmm.

‘Or delete his number, unfriend him and move on.’

Instead I take to haunting his profile. I attend three events in as many months just because Facebook says he’s ‘Attending’. For the third of these I shell out actual money. It’s a lecture on Henry James. I didn’t attend lectures at uni when they were free. For this one I both buy a ticket and do preparatory reading.

The Portrait of a Lady – aside from being brilliant – is the story of a young American woman who comes to Europe and falls for the wrong man. I don’t need to point out the irony.

‘I might just suggest meeting up,’ I say to Beatrice, after another no-show.

She agrees it would be better than what I’m doing.

‘But,’ she goes on, ‘what do you want from seeing him?’

That’s the million dollar question and I don’t have an answer, not a real one.

‘Closure I guess, whatever that is.’

CC Image courtesy of I like on Flickr

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Now

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Your smile is different now
Like before and after a secret is shared
As if to say
Now we both know

Your hair no longer scraped back
But worn natural

The smile reaches your eyes now
There is no fear
No uncertainty
And you look younger

CC Image courtesy of simpleinsomnia on Flickr

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Shoe Story

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CC Image courtesy of JeneaWhat on Flickr

My first boyfriend

And the man I left him for

And the man I left him for

My first love

The first man I slept with

My first…

The man who broke my heart

And the man who helped put it back together again

And the man who helped put it back together again

crush shoes

The man I crush on

The man I love

The man I love

 

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