love is:

passive

The young couple walked quickly down the street, arm in arm. The two were angry and uncomfortable, their pace quickened by desire to escape the opposite attached to their arm. “Where are we going” she complained, for no reason other than to fill the silence. “We’re just wandering” he said shortly. This pace continued for a while, accompanied by a painful silence. (Uncomfortable, unspoken, uncertain)
After completing their circle of the café in which this had began they slowed down and looked around. She silently walked to the wall and sat down. He looked over to her and then to the buildings around. They were beside the theatre and she sat facing Stephens green. He smiled uncomfortably and sat next to her, leaving an inch or two between them, before taking further note of his surroundings.

They had sat here before, at this very spot, after their second break-up (at the beginning of summer). Things were much different then, there had been no real love, just uncertainty, kisses, and fall apart hopes. They had sat and talked a bit, making small talk (both of them wanted desperately to kiss the other but hadn’t). Neither of them had really wanted it that time either, but once the words were said they both felt committed to them. It had seemed silly all the way back then to break it and get back together over and over…

Well this was the fourth time…and it hadn’t gotten any easier. He pointed to a shop across the street. It had his name on it (this had been pointed out the first time. It was very amusing but I’m sure you had to have been there). She smiled a little, but the mood was far from lightened. She kept the distance and wouldn’t let him touch her, not even to help her to her feet later in the evening. The exact words between them for the next few minutes are lost to me until she cut in (cut him) to say “I’m bad for you, you know that?”

He smiled a little to himself. He’d read her a note from an old lover who had said the same words, the same lines. They didn’t even apply this time “no you’re not. I’m much better now than I’ve been in a long time. I’m happier, less ****ed up” (he always was one to reassure her). I can’t remember if she followed to say “you’re bad for me” but it seems to fit anyway. Everything she’d taken from him, every balance and restoration of sanity she’d given him had been taken from her to keep the balance…

“This is ****ed up, this is fake” she said a while later. They had been discussing the last few weeks, how they’d said their goodbyes, resolved to end their love, then kissed the very next chance they got. Desire and lust had stolen their chance for a clean ending, destroyed their plans for sharp painful tearing (designed to leave their memories intact). That first kiss (mere days) after their break-up had, of course, led to a second and a third and a fourth… And an evening... And a week.. And it was nearly a month now. The words resounded in his head. This is fake. He laughed as he replied, his voice distorted by the burning in the back of his throat. “So is love”. She looked up and asked “what?” He looked at her and smiled, as though proud of his witty reply, before realising she really hadn’t heard him. He laughed again (he feels the need to express his contempt for his own childish drama, yet still expresses his words through that same disgusting drama)

“So is love” he repeated, taking care over each word to ensure it lasted just the right length, was followed by the right space and ended with the right degree of emphasis. So is love.

He thought back to their clean ending…the pretty morning, just 3 weeks back (it felt like a year). The dawn fell exactly one week after they had lost their innocence…and for a variety of unclear and mystical reasons they decidedto break apart while they still loved each other. This was the morning they planned. Tomorrow they’d go back to school, they’d both be busy, things would fade (or so it was alleged, agreed to and forced into practice). It was freezing... so very much so that they were both shaking. It was too cold even to hold each other for warmth as the other seemed too icy to even touch.

Through blurry eyes he could see that her face was streamed with tears and after dressing she led him to the door. There were words before that of course…but they were just details. They promised this was the end, marvelled at how perfect this had been, how happy he was to have been with her, how sad that this chapter was coming to a close. They both knew they’d kiss again…but they knew it wouldn’t be love. They expected friendship kisses... friendship touch (less special and honourable ideals) and so it was that everything had ended in her porch at 6am on a Sunday morning. They kissed through lips wet with tears, carefully, slowly, savouring each second and then he was gone, walking to get his taxi. If it was relevant I’d note how pretty he found the morning, how there were foxes on the street and squirrels in the park where he waited before finishing his journey home. But it isn’t relevant…because she answered:

“I hate you”. He was surprised, shocked, hurt and shared this with her the best way he knew how. “I know you do” was his carefully worded reply, but it betrayed some patronising tones and she reinforced her words. “no really, I hate you”. He replied quickly and shortly, his voice conveying contempt but still…patronising: “I know you do, I hate you too”

Its hard to say how it fell apart…so we’ll centre on the cause of todays unpleasantness. They had been walking, they had kissed, they talked, and they were passionate. There was signs and expressions of love...and as the evening led to a close they went for coffee (or tea & hot chocolate, but it was in a café, so coffee has the same effect in the wording) He sat facing her but she avoided his gaze…she seemed distracted and distant. He asked what was wrong, persisted; then grew angrier and more frustrated each time he felt he was lied to. They both grew defensive, then aggressive, then just plain angry and, when the cafe closed and they had to leave they started walking. This had led them to the present narrative… they never used to fight like this before…there hadn’t been hate in a long time… but that was the past. In the present you could have cut the tension with a knife…(though a knife wouldn’t have been the best item to introduce to this couple at this time)

passive

A while later they were walking again. He withdrew his hatred, tried to explain about different voices, different moods, reactions and the lack of clarity in his feelings for her. She simply told him “I really do hate you though” but changed her mind the next time they reached the same road. The hateful mood faded as they stood in the doorway of a closed shop talking, in a much calmer manner, about themselves and their situation. He paced back and forth in the confined space (which gained nothing but to keep her on edge and keep him from concentrating) “I don’t know what you’re thinking anymore, I can’t decide how to act”.he was silent in respons. he knew what she meant. He had been trying to guard himself from her, to be ready for when she came to her senses and ended their little affair (or until he did so himself, but he hardly needed to guard for that), he found it hard to be so defensive while kissing her and trying to make things work between them. It was a fine balance and the scales would collapse if she touched them to see what was on his mind. “You haven’t been this distant in a long time,” she said afterwards(perhaps even on a different day, but every conversation joins in his head to this one night, this one walk)

He remembered the last time he had kept his distance…she had cheated on him. He had walked away from her (this was the unmentioned third ending) but had chosen to forgive her. It was a mistake. Anybody can make a mistake and he had come close himself… it still hurt to think of though. He pictured her kissing this boy who had bought her beer at the gig…(she alleged she turned him down at first, as though this in some way redeemed her, but he always knew this meant she justified it and justified herself to be willing the second time) he pictured her kissing the boy who in his mind has no face. His love had been kissing a shadow without meaning or feeling. He had distanced himself after they got back together, even for a while after granting forgiveness, because he couldn’t trust her, he didn’t trust himself not to seek revenge and, worst of all, he felt their love was no longer of any worth because she had proved so weak.
It had passed though, by degrees, to the love and desperation that made him fight for this glorious end of blood and tears.(drama, drama, drama, drama, lies)

The night ended as usual. They calmed, they kissed, they promised it would be better next time, until the day they finally parted company (the next time, or the next time, or the next time) he watched her get onto her bus and wandered home lost in thought. His mind was reeling; he had no idea what to do. Walking the path of least resistance, losing faith in love, starting to hate the person closest to his heart, he suddenly started to realise that this really is worth something. He’d always been painted such a pretty picture of undying love. The stories and the films and the heroes were always so complete in their portrayal of love. (In contrast the girls he had known were quite complete in their betrayal of love). He had been led to believe that Love was beautiful. Love was never-ending. Love was perfect. Love was devotion. Never-ending, perfect and devoted were what he had fought for in the early days of love. This had earned him nothing but pain and disappointment. Love was beautiful, that couldn’t be denied, but it wasn’t perfect. Love is a cut that grows and takes form until you love its every curve, every colour and its sheer depth. As he thought of the girl he had just loved, hated, kissed and ****ed he realised, in a brilliant moment of epiphany, that love was worthless if it didn’t leave a scar.

-End


(Ack…. completely lost it at the ending…but…not bad for an hours work?)

skipn_easy

I liked it.

jonno

I agree, nice work

patch

Well done. That's about the most accomplished piece I've read on CW.