Like beer and lemonade! Like cheese and pickle! Like Townies and Burberry.

Me and Him were like this. (Shows fingers crossed)

And now I recall it all. Like lemmings, we were curled up feet apart on my bed

while the music was playing and the sounds were coursing through my head.

And all the emotions and the highs and feelings. At once lost and found. I read the other day the English language is impersonal but that it makes up for that my having lots of similes.

Sounds like a load of old rubbish to me. Ha!

Back to the bed.

My head shaved for him. So I looked impressive. My hair put in the bin and not left on the floor. I even had my groceries delivered. Just see what life can be if you don’t spend all your money getting high thought I

So I looked posh to him.(?) Even my vodka was branded. What was I trying to tell him? Or was I just attempting

to avoid blindness at my local off-license?

So late I was I felt that I had to do it all in one day. Make a film. Draw a masterpiece. Compose a tune…

And it was good. I declared it to myself many times. And this is good. And this, and this…

Days went by and we spent more and more time together. closer and closer. gifts and nights out.

Was something happening here?

Years of oppression my-my right brain enslaved to two and a half kids and a semi in the subs said ‘don’t even go there’ but Placebo and some lyrics about not being a slave said maybe. then there were music videos by blur, Radiohead and more Placebo. Past experiences of fumblings in the dark, after drinks said to do something but a feeling of being in a straight jacket told me I was not ready to yet. Days passed into nights and the pattern repeated itself again and again. . But then a careless thought and a brush of a hand across a thigh turned into a full blown fist fight and trashing of my flat. How dare I do that!

How was I to know I had been dating a homophobe?

Published by Andrew Mark Watkins

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