London Diary 41

It is hard to say good bye. Even harder when you really hate her. Coffee, cafe, crying. The three symbols of a modern break up. A couple of used tissues lie on the table. It is one of those old cafes, not the fancy coffee bars. They serve real food like egg and chips not stale pre-packed sandwiches. And instead of coffee, I just have a mug of tea, now cold as we sit cross the table from each other.

Silence.

She said what she had to say, I said what I had to say.

We knew it was coming. Inevitable. The charade we created, it was beautiful, fun, lustful. But ultimately temporary. Maybe that is why we clicked, because we expected nothing from each other. Just fleeting moments spent together. All right, those moments were great. We laughed, we danced, we tickled, we kissed, we fucked. I look back and smile, in more ways than you could imagine. In more ways than she could ever imagine. In more ways than I ever expected.

Different lives. Can they ever be reconciled. Maybe we are too different. Or maybe we let too many little things become one big issue. Or maybe we wanted some fantasy Bollywood script, where everything falls into place and the couple lives happily ever after in some mansion attended to by servants. But the reality is that deep down, neither of us wanted each other. We had expectations, of something better. We both were looking for a greater goal. In my mind she looked like X, did Y and fucked like Z. In her mind, I felt like A, talked like B and provided like C. In the end what we were was something far better. Two people, happy. Unexpectedly so. I use that term over and over again. No expectations, but something beautiful came from the both of us.

Our love was not unique. It was not fulfilling, not even remotely. It was temporary, stabbing, quick and painful. Fleeting in our encounters. But it worked, on some strange level. Maybe it is what we both deserved. We did not deserve something beautiful and trusting, our personalities would not have handled such a thing. Instead, what we needed was something abusive, manipulative and powerful. For both of us. Wretched, just like our doomed souls.

She gets up, her handbag slipping down her arm as she quickly walks out of the cafe. I do not turn around to see her walk out onto the street. Instead, all I can do is look at the vacant space opposite me. The warmth from that chair will soon fade. I am hypnotised rooted to the spot. Part of me is aware of the other eyes in the cafe that glance my way, wondering what it is that has gone on between us. Blaming me for making her upset. They may well be right. But we both knew what was coming.

I pick up the now dry tissues and pop them onto the empty plate. I could only eat a little piece of the pudding, my mind was not really on food. My mobile phone is still on the table. I pick it up. He rnumber is stil stored in my phone book. I look at the 11 digits for a moment, then I hit the delete button. Finished.

I head to the counter, pay up and leave. As I walk onto the street, I scan the nearby bus stop, but she is nowhere to be seen. Wherever she is now, she is out of my life forever. For better or for worse, she is gone. But not forgotten…

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2 Comments

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2 responses to “London Diary 41

  1. Oddly compelling. Kind of sad, but left me wondering what happened next. Pretty cool entry.

  2. Great writing. It certainly got my full attention and I had to read it to the end, not fast read either, just linger over the words, to try to soak in the sentiments and the moment.

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