Wednesday, 24 March 2010

The One with Mr Smith

I remember saying something along the lines of probably my last post involving or perhaps more accurately revolving around Mr Smith, I spoke too soon.

I just found these words scribbled in my notebook, as it was from a week or so ago apologies for any repetition:

I am reminded of an episode of Friends, where Rachel declares self-amassed closure - "I am so over you", Ross' feeble response is "..when were you erm.. under me?".

Mr Smith says he loves me. Let's put that to one side for a second.

What the fuck does he expect me to do with that information?  I have some strategic and practical ideas, these I am sure, will only excite him.  What was he expecting, for us to run away in a Reg Perrin style escape (Rossiter not Clunes), stripped naked and heading for the North Sea?

When I found myself falling for him, I stopped myself, and slowly backed away.  For each step I took backwards, it was like he came two steps closer.

I don't wear my heart on my sleeve, I keep it in a box in my fireplace (no, that's not a euphemism).  I swallowed my feelings and gulped hard. And why? He's married.

I questioned if he was strong enough for me and gave examples.  I don't recall him saying anything, he simply nodded to the rhythm of my voice.

The conclusion

Fuck knows. I asked for a month's grace, for his benefit rather than mine.  I am a distraction, so is his online activity, anything not to be left with the deafening silence of reality.

He said it felt like a punishment, but it  really wasn't.  He said it was easier said than done, I replied that I could strong enough to enforce it.  A wry smile appeared on his face.

He asked if we could go back to being friends.  I'm not sure it could.  Our friendship was never innocent, it was based on the ultimate sacrifice of pure sharing.  We shared our lives - hopes, dreams, desires, fantasies and fears.

And now?

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