THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
You're hesitating, I'm hesitating
First week off on break, and I've spent five out of seven days alone with you. We spend every day in the sunshine, sitting in Soho, sitting in Kensington, in Whitechapel, always slightly drunk in Camden and Kentish Town. Three thousand coffees later, three thousand drinks, six million cigarettes. Things are easier out of school, they're easier when we're alone.
You stick to me, you call me to you, wake me up in the morning, You awake yet sweet cheeks?, and I stumble out the door to you, sleepy and quiet and covered in bruises and we wander, your pace always more hurried than mine. We talk about nothing, your friends, the life that I left. You lecture me on little things, tell me I don't eat enough, drink too much coffee, don't sleep enough, spend too much money, don't tell the truth the way you know that I want to
Today at the train station, I knew you hesitated, things went weird and unsaid, but I handed you my diary- I handed you my diary and I told you that I trusted you. I know that you'll read it word for word. A knot in my stomach forms at the thought, you're a clever boy, you'll read it right.
"Sunday, then," you say.
"Sunday," I say.
I put on my headphones, turn to leave, you watch me go.