Conversation is a skill that must be practiced
and I’ve forgotten how
I don’t really talk anymore
Making myself a mute by choice
It’s all based on the past
Back when I had everything I could ever ask for
There’s no use in making new friends
Because I can’t get over the one’s that I miss
Who would believe that we’d separate so bad
when we were practically stitched at the hip
And I still scratch at the scars I have made
Sometimes I even find a stray stitch still there
Growing old for me means growing lonely
I’m accepting that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing
And I’m not sure that I ever did
I gave it all, but I really didn’t have much to begin with
At least now
I can fully admit it
Solitude is easy to get used to
but there’s always the bite of being lonely
Trying to connect with people
but only living on the mouths of strangers
Is this a discussion or can I claim my prize?
Either way I have nothing to add
The only context in which I'm able to run dirtytalk.txt is when I photograph this restaurant every single time I walk past it and send it to the Depressed Friend
The secret to having people listen to you is by saying more than you talk. Of course people have to listen to you at least a little bit in the first place for that to happen.
"So we're like a cassette?" He asked. "You get rewound and rewound and rewound until eventually you cough up your heart and then die."
Laura screwed up her face. "It's more like... Just as easily as we realise that there are sweets in the cupboard and, as we eat them all up, we know that they will come to an end, but we keep going because life is a gift."
"Are the sweets a gift? Can I have some sweets? Jelly babies. Jelly babies. Jelly babies."
"No Nathan."
"Well they aren't a chore or a punishment."
"They're a privilege."
"Growing up is tough, sis."
"How can you stand being so old? Especially when i flaunt my youth in your stupid, baggy face." He tugged on his cheeks until they displayed elastic recoil and made a gesture that he thought was rude.
"Don't do that Nathan."
"Why not? Old people do it all the time."
"Dad doesn't."
"He does in the car. He says-"
"Nathan, no."
"Fuck you you stupid old git. Get out my flipping way. Bastard."
"Stop it."
"Then he does that hand signal that looks like he's shaking dice from side to side."
"Mum doesn't."
"She..." Nathan began, before seeing a look in his sister's eyes that muted him. Teenagers frightened him, even his sister. Especially his sister.
The sun had set whilst they were talking. London was disappearing in the distance and now the faint reflections of light off of the Wembley arch too were dimming, chasing their celestial source until It had no fire left to fan.
"Do you miss Gran?" Laura asked.
"I don't know."
"I am numb, I think. It's strange."
"Numb?"
"It means you don't feel much. Pins and needles."
"She never gave me pins and needles."
"No I mean," she said, losing her train of thought, "I suppose I can't believe she has gone."
"But she's at the church. She didn't move. She didn't go anywhere. Not even hell. Nobody lost her."
Laura tucked her hair behind her ear and sighed. "We all lost her. You're too young to understand."
"I am old enough."
The pub door crumpled behind them as a distant uncle put a cigarette to his mouth as if it was a pleasant reward for enduring company. Inside they were playing Sinatra's back catalogue. This was the second time through.
"When am I going to die?" Asked Nathan.
Laura smiled, "you've got ages yet."
"More than you?"
"Who knows."
"You better die first. I didn't get born six years later than you to die first."
"I'll try to die first for you then."
"If I have to, will you let me kill you? In your sleep. Quiet. Like on the playstation."
Laura looked at her brother and surveyed his face for any intent. He looked angelic. "Okay then. That seems like a painless way to go."
He batted at his eyes with his cuff. "I really miss Gran."
meeting poetry majors: wow you're one of the few poetry majors i've ever met and i've read your work and every single word is perfectly placed and comes at exactly the right moment in this gently sloping hillside of effortless language
but man
how is it that we can't even ever have one single normal easy conversation where we think of easy things to say and say them
