All posts tagged: romance

84. Compromisery

When do you know it’s time to go? When do you decide that this job or this partner or this home or this country or this version of life isn’t for you anymore? When do you say – enough? I have a low threshold for misery. I will walk away from a job or a relationship or a friendship that’s making me unhappy. No. Scrap that. I will run away. I won’t just throw in the towel, I’ll throw in the kettle and the 3-piece bathroom suite and the keys to the Ford Escort and the pension and I’ll leg it screaming blue bloody murder. But I’m not like most people. Most people are patient. Most people are triers. Most people work at things. They don’t give up or give in. They give it time. They give a shit. They cut their life some slack. Is that better? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe sometimes.

82. Love letter II

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.

23. Snap, crackle and pop

What’s your type? People always ask me that and my response is always the same: I like femme girls. She can be tall, short or middle of the road; blond, brunette, red-head or blue-head; fair, tanned, dark or Boots’ finest; she can be a skinny little slip of a thing or a happy tumble of curves. But (insert grunt here) I like a woman to be a woman *swings club over shoulder and heads into cave*.

22. Misfits

I’m filling my mate in on my disastrous date with the Irish: “Why are so many people so terrible at making conversation?” she laughs “it’s like it’s a dying art form. I mean, it’s not that hard to ask a few questions!” “I know! I blame the internet.”