I'm fed up of being good. Of being understanding. I'm fed up of things never working right when I need them to.
I'm disappointed. But now disappointment leads to anger. That kind of anger built up of too much sadness. Of anguish. Of realising you have been stupid too many times. Realising it's too late to be furious but you are furious just the same. Realising what was your life has gone.

I've made mistakes, but I can't remember anything I'd have to regret. But that doesn't make me feel better. And now, again, I look at the moon and try to cry but I can't. And I need to, I swear I need to.

shit

I thought you, out of everyone in this world, would never ever fail me. I've seen you give the shit out of yourself for someone. I guess I always expect too much out of people. Again.

would it make any difference?

If I cried a thousend rivers, would it make any difference? I begun to cry yesterday; I had been longing for the moment I could spit it out too much time. But it hasn't finished yet. And I don't even know if I feel better or worse.

A story that never was. But could have been. Take 2.

I could feel the blood sliding down my neck and down my cleavage. But of course when I put my hand to my neck there was nothing there, no blood, just the feel of it... And when she removed her teeth from my skin I felt that familiar thrill all over my body. Once again. And I loved it. Once again.

The moon was still up there, guarding us while we laughed and kissed and got full of sand all over. Knowing she made that moment special. Knowing she was the ultimate cause of that thrill.

A story that never was. But could have been.

We could see the moon over the sea as we were walking through dunes towards the beach. And I kept thinking of that huge full moon I had seen over sea in Lisbon last time I'd been there. There were nearly half a dozen bonfires in the beach and a lot of people gabbing and laughing over them so I cannot say we were alone, but it felt like.

It is hard to walk on cold sand at night when you've got a couple of litres of beer down the throat. So when we finally got there, to the right spot in the sand, we slumped down on the sand with another couple of beers in our hands and chatted and laughed the night through. The moon was now high in the sky and the hills could be seen though the fog. That fog would have usually given the night that chilly feeling, but her skin was touching mine and gave me all the heat I needed (plus there was the beers...). I was looking at the moon and as I was leaning my head to one side, I suddenly felt her canine teeth pierce the skin in my neck. Unforgettable.

To be continued...

Talk to me

You don't have to hide away,
You're talking to me...

Quoted from "Get through" by Mark Joseph
from his album Scream.