DurAnorak (duranorak) wrote,

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I'm not actually very well right now. But my dad, who's just turned up, doesn't believe me. So he's being a complete bastard at me in the hope that, I don't know, I break down and apologise for having the temerity to be a bit ill on a day I have to work, even though I'm planning on working anyway.

'Danger (High Voltage)' by Electric 6 is now on my MP3 playlist. There are those among you who may find this amusing.

Oh, and.

It's somewhere around one in the morning, nobody else in the room (or the world, when I'm around you, but you're not to know that) and you say, choked and harsh, "I'm fucked." I look at you. You look at me. "It's my own fault," you state, still looking at me but not seeing me.
I slide towards you and put a hand on your shoulder, warily, then edge back; but the look in your eyes is fear and some kind of lost incomprehension and under the circumstances all I can do is put an arm around you and try to hold you for a moment.
And I think that it's odd that the first time I touch you should be now, like this. And then I think no, it isn't, it's typical. Since my eyes met yours for the first time I've been trapped in wishes of you and beautiful cruelty, of you hurting me until I cry and then holding me with sudden tenderness, and yet the first time that I touch you I am in my place as comforter, as listener. Reminders and reminders that it is all I will ever be.

And it is often said that when one sees the weaknesses of a person one fears, they become simply another person, "just like you and me". Not true; you are just as magnificent and frightening, only hurt; like a bird of prey with a broken wing. If an eagle fell through my window I would do what I could to heal it, and it would know I was not hostile, but I would be wary of its beak and claws nonetheless.
But for a moment it is given to me to be the one to touch you.

And then the door creaks open and I hurriedly give you up.


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