deja vu

Being in love is just as painful as I always expected it to be. I wake up every morning andd my first thought is of him. In fact, as my dreams are also littered with him, I'm beginning to find it difficult to distinguish between the two states. They smudge together. I'll be driving into work and I'll see him in every car and on every street. The excitement of spotting him is tremendous. The disappointment that it never is him is side-splitting. I walk into the office building and always look around to see if he's in reception, which is a rediculous thought, considering how much he loathes the studio and all it stands for.



I send myself to sleep each night remembering the way his lips felt hanging on me and I wake up smiling. But only for the nanosecond it takes for my brain to explain to my heart that there will be no repeat performance. Ever. It seems that I know a million things about him because I am always considering, remembering, recollecting. Yet there is so much that I don't know. I'd like to be able to imagine every part of his day. I wonder what his flat is like and what car he drives. Then I remind myself that it is safer I don't know these things because the less I have to forget the better.



And really it is only a matter of time before he's annihilated from my mind. I comfort myself with the thought that in the beginning, everything is fascinating. The way they part their hair, the way they blow their nose, how they like their steak. Every manifestation seems enticing, but if I were still with him these things would have already become tedious. It would be impossible to keep noticing these things if they were constantly before me. The commonplace is not rare and beautiful. Interesting. Precious. Like all my memories. It's better that I have the luscious intensity intact rather than sullied through everyday wear.



- Adele Parks