The other night I saw two women having a drink. They were sat outside at a picnic table, with fairy lights hanging from the trees above them. One of them – the one I could see – had a smile so broad I thought her cheeks would crack. Later they shared a kiss – one, two, five, a dozen – before slipping out hand in hand. I saw this and I was so envious. Not about the kiss – kisses are easy. It’s the love. I miss loving someone. I’m so full of love it leaks out of my toes and my ears. What a waste, to see it swilling down the drain like dirty bathwater. Seeing women together makes me ache and yearn and pine so hard I have to look away, like I’ve seen something terrible.
So, this Pride I’m a little grumpy. Can I say that? Is that allowed? Or is someone going to come and confiscate my glitters? NO RAINBOW FOR YOU – BACK IN THE CLOSET, NAYSAYER. For one thing, every brand is jumping on the pride bandwagon to flog its wares. From Volvo (“Drive with pride”) to the Body Shop (shining a light through different coloured shower gels to create a rainbow. Caption: “let your true colours shine,”) everyone wants in on #pride – but without showing any actual gay stuff like kissing or holding hands or bumming in the back of a Volvo. Then, there was the conversation I had with a friend recently who said: “Pride isn’t really an LGBT thing anymore, is it? It’s about accepting everyone.”
After our night of passion, the genius and I part ways. No one’s hurt or angry. There are no bad feelings. But we both recognise that this isn’t and probably never will be love. There’s no point flogging a horse that, if not quite dead, is very unwell. She does leave me a parting gift though when she messages later to say: “I had fun last time so feel free to call me in an emergency 😉 x” I smile and slide the gift under the bed. Just in case. The truth is, there’s another reason this won’t work: Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the Thai. At the time, I was so hung up on the Friend I never gave us a proper chance. Every time we kissed or laughed or got close I’d feel guilty and back off. With the benefit of hindsight, I can see it was the Thai who made me feel good, who treated me kindly, who left me in no doubt that I was the one she wanted.
I don’t know about you, but sometimes my head can go a bit…wonky. Everything might look fine from the outside – the walls have been freshly painted, the windows are sparkling – but inside the telly’s been smashed, there are books all over the floor and moths have eaten half my dress collection. I wonder if this is how people who are depressed feel. Like the inside of their head’s been vandalised.
Forgive my ignorance, but what’s the deal with the whole lesbian vs bisexual thing we’ve got going on? I’ve felt it, the fear and the resentment and the willful misunderstanding simmering beneath the surface. Sometimes it bursts out on Twitter or Facebook like an angry boil and the trolls crawl out from under their bridges with spikes. How did we get here and why?
Recently I was chatting to an old colleague, who’s in a long-term relationship but has started having feelings for women: “I don’t know whether to talk to my boyfriend or just, you know…go have fun,” she said, flushing. Maybe…try not to cheat?” I said gently.
Regrets are terrible things. They’re like pieces of glass littering a beach. As you roam back over your memories it’s all warm and soft until you feel the sharp slice of them through your feet. They hold so much power. What could my life have been if only I had followed my heart, held my nerve, chased my dreams? The path you took will never be as exciting or fulfilling as the one that passed you by.