When it’s broken it’s broken.

The alarm said 3.  It actually said 3.55 which meant nearly four but my eyes only really saw the 3.  Three whole hours (and a bit) of sleep would I be getting this night.  This really isn’t quite working out as I had planned.

Earlier:
I heard the three words again.  Seems there’s a lot of it about.  Maybe, on that drunken night, a long time ago now, it seems, I didn’t say everything that I could have.  Or, at least, he didn’t remember.  But, then, things, reasons, excuses, have also changed in time and are not the same as they were before.  They are different but no less untrue for all that.

And there’s the heart of it.  The centre of it all.  And still, even confronted with the evidence, with what must be suspected, still there is a reluctance to admit anything, as if, by admitting, everything will be destroyed forever.

But, everything is already destroyed and was, really, all those years ago.  It just took me a long time to realise it and a long time to come to terms with it; me, hanging on to what I thought was real, even if I knew it was not.

Eventually, I got an admission – of sorts.  Not much of one, true, and probably not the whole truth or, even, a tiny portion of it – but something.

I just want to scream ‘Stop fucking lying to me!’ and yet I know that it will continue.  I told him about Karl.  About what happened.  Well, not all but some.  I needed him to understand that, even if he still thought he held a flame for me, it could never be again.

I really want him to be happy, just not with me, in spite of anything he might think that he wants.  I don’t want him to make the same mistake he made with me and it hurts me to see that he is doing it again.  Already.

I guess it must be like some sort of drug.

Earlier he said that I was too honest.  It was true, in a way.  I cannot hide how I feel or what I think very well, except, perhaps, in business.  But not with friends or lovers or, even, ex-lovers.

I fail to understand why people lie.  What’s the point?  OK, so saying someone looks nice even if you don’t think they do is one thing.  I’m talking about important things here.

There were tears but I think the tears were for himself and what could have been…..but isn’t.  And, yet, I still felt guilty.  As if it were my fault, which I know it is not.  Oh, yes, I must shoulder some of the blame for it all, certainly, but it’s not my fault.

This may give a wrong impression.  An impression that the evening was crap or not enjoyable.  And yet it wasn’t those things.  It was good and nice and pleasant and fun, for the most part.  A little like the whole 20-odd years.

Still, I’m sorry I made you cry.