Do not alight here.

It’s just me now, fighting the wind and blowing smoke at the rain. Back in the city after a peculiar stint in my hometown; seems Springsteen may have been wrong in some respects, but alas, I digress, life just isn’t the same without her and I have to get used to that.

I’m boring myself these days thinking about my woe-betide broken heart and the subsequent fallout that ensued. I want to smoke real cigarettes and drink myself to death but instead I’m following this bullshit trend and I think it’s giving me gum disease and making my hair fall out. Writing without a cigarette hanging off my lip doesn’t feel right; it feels empty, if that’s even possible? Who knows? Maybe I should go out and buy a pack of smokes and a bottle of wine and do it right. It couldn’t be worse than the smell of damp that permeates the walls in my new bedsit. The walls are so thin I can hear my neighbours breathing at night, hear them defecating in the morning and hear them making love at all hours of the day. Just to rub it in my face that happy couples like to have sex. I live in a basement flat now, underground like a gnome below the pavement where buses glide past my window and drunks shelter in the bus-stop. I hear them at late hours mumbling to themselves, talking to their plastic bags and eating the cockroaches in their pockets. Sometimes I consider going out there to sit with them and grab a taste of the hobo-life. Maybe some perspective will lift me out of this funk.

I saw a couple of tramps sitting on the floor on Christmas day sharing a can of Tenants Super and I was jealous, jealous that they had someone to spend Christmas with. It’s ok though, because the bus periodically stops outside my window for ten seconds at a time, and for those ten seconds I can pretend that the people sitting on the top deck, looking in at me, aren’t going to leave, but they always do… they always do.

Just me and my tiny kettle only big enough to make two cups of tea – something that could be beautifully romantic, turns into something that mocks you when you drink tea by the pint, because it only holds enough water for one; another constant reminder of loneliness. My cutlery and crockery looks so ridiculous all stacked up in the cupboard, knowing it isn’t going to be used. It will lay there and gather dust and become stained from the carbon monoxide seeping in through the windows and hope for the day when I have company and it may get the chance to be used again. When you live alone you only use one plate, one bowl, one cup, one knife, one fork – you get the picture. And when you’re finished using it, you just rinse it off and put it back, because really – who gives a fuck?

4 thoughts on “Do not alight here.

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  1. Hi Nils. So good to see you writing again!! -and writing well! – even though you are expressing your feeling of loneliness – your desire for twosomeness and a feeling of misery,— I can also sense a change for the better – back in London again, surrounded by people and real life that inspires you to write and go on with your life. My English is insufficient to be able to write what I really want to say, but it all melts down to this: You are back on track, and I am so pleased to see that !!

    ge

    Den 11. jan. 2014 kl. 15:40 skrev The Poetry and Prose of Nils Lovenberry:

    > >

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