He is 83. Stumbling across the road like he was going to fall over. I just wished he wouldn’t because then one of the cars would be sure to run him over and  i’d be the only witness and no doubt Perth 9 News would demonize me for not helping a poor old man out. Imagine that. A foreign student in debt barely getting enough sleep worrying about a measly  old timer .

Of all the seats there, he had to sit next to me. Grinning,he begins an interesting little conversation about how his knees hurt and his hips buckle,and he wishes he was my age so that he’d be able to run in the mornings when he was younger instead of nursing the hangovers that was his glory younger days.

I notice a tear in his sleeve and instantly feel remorse as he tells me that that’s the only good shirt he owns.His wife passed three years ago and he hasn’t bothered buying a new one since. How romantic,I can’t even get a guy to text me back .

Time flies so fast , he says. It felt like just yesterday he sent his son to university and now there’s three grandchildren in the family.Sometimes he wishes it would go faster so that it would be time for them to visit him. Everyone is so busy these days,even when they’re visiting him they seem to be more interested in their phones than they are of him.Makes him wants to throw those awful little square things in the river. I laugh at this but he doesn’t seem to budge.Maybe he wasn’t kidding.

His bus arrives.  ”Thanks for listening to an old man yapping. Maybe the last conversation I have”

I can only smile.

 

 

 

 

No contact

Day five of no contact.

I’ve roamed the dark scary internet for ways to get over a useless fuckboy.Yes it has come to that.  I have obviously fallen hard . And hard enough for me to consider no contact after searching for what it meant. The idea is basically out of sight out of mind,no texts no social media interaction and that includes stalking. They say that to get the person back you have to go no contact for at least one month.Now  to be fair i’m well aware that a lot of people get back together with their ex and then things work out better the next time around but personally for my situation ,I  don’t want anything to do with this  one anymore.

What if you don’t plan on getting them back at all? I mean why would I want to put myself through that pain again. All the websites I’ve visited seem to be putting that hard sell out of  getting your ex back , even as far as to recommending you buy ebooks of off them in order to get that old flame back into your life.And its certainly no surprise that those E books don’t come cheap either.

However, I have to say there was one passage of  a website that I find intriguing regardless of my opinion on getting the ex back

“I don’t care if I get him back or not but I am going to be so incredible that when he is on his deathbed and looking back at his life he will say to himself.I made a mistake letting her go.”

 

 

Everlong

I remember getting only slightly agitated. My uber driver, bless his heart  was only trying to help. I had no idea where this rum bar place was and we had circled the same area about twice now.I was close to losing it so I called possible mistake number 2 up just as I insisted on walking out of the  Uber car with the terribly sweet air freshener.

I was blunt but not rude as directed by the dating book I was currently reading.Apparently it’s one of those hip, hidden in an alleyway types of bars that you would need a password for to get in.I’d only heard of such places in romantic comedies and spy movies that walking towards one at that very moment made me more excited than meeting this guy.

That was it,I told him.Either he came out and look for me or I leave.

He chuckled slightly and few minutes later emerged from a nondescript door at the end of the alleyway. I took him in under the corner of my eye.He is not ugly. Let’s say  Ryan Gosling and Ryan Reynolds made a pact with the devil responsible for the charming awkwardness of Mark Zuckerberg and produced this person in front of me. He seemed different to what I was used to, and that being athletic gym type guys who act all dominant in public but want me to be the jetpack (Look it up on Reddit) at bedtime. I tried to remind myself to look past appearances and give this guy a chance.Besides, if nothing else,at least I’d get to brag to the girls about this cool new hidden bar we’d surely be visiting as a group soon.

I’ve been on dates before.And I’ll admit not all men are jerks. I’ve been lucky in that most of the guys were nice and respectful enough but in those cases it was a matter of the  conversation being strained or there wasn’t a connection. Another time I could just tell the guy was still hung up over his ex and the dog they now shared custody of.

Surprisingly enough,the date at the rum bar went well. Better than well,that I found myself agreeing to go salsa dancing after.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Finally figured out how to check out other works on here. You guys are good.

really good. Keep on inspiring.

 

 

 

Excuse me while I step up my game .

Little spoon

The first time I attempted to cuddle was with this guy I had been ‘hanging out’ with  on and off for way longer than I should have . It wasn’t anything serious between me and him and we’d say our awkward goodbyes after awesome fuck me hard sessions. (At the time) We weren’t really that close on any kind of other levels other than physical  but I had come across a meme on my Facebook timeline and wanted to give this mysterious realm of holding an actual person in bed  instead of my pillow or the torn stuffed rabbit given to me as an infant a try.

He turned over after he was done .Any other day this would end in both our backs to each other  just giving in to sleep before  he gets up to leave .Not today.  I went  for the kill and slipped my hand over him ,  anticipating the worst .

 

He might just jump up without a word and that would be the last time I ever see of the fella. Or he would probably turn to me and we’d be all set for round two.

Neither happened . Instead he brings himself closer to me and nudges for my leg to hook over him .Not an easy thing to do when I’m a mere   5’2 and this fuck buddy of mine is a rugby athlete of 6’3 proportion.  I manage to make it just comfortable for the both of us. He sighs , one of those stupidly relaxed content sighs. You know it, its like the one   new parents do when they see their little cherub for the first time ? yeah that one. and falls into deep sleep with me straddling him from behind like that.

This time before he leaves, he tries to actually kiss me on the lips. Our mouths have been everywhere else on each other but the lips are uncharted territory .  That’s the thing with fuck buddies I suppose, real intimacy just doesn’t happen. I back off so he kisses my forehead instead. Again, new unexplored area of somewhat public display of affection. I say public because A, we’re not in my bedroom anymore and B, my flatmate is across the room and she  tries her hardest not to stare at us .

I think the forehead kiss was nice. Am I REALLY blushing right now ?

 

 

Oh fuck .

 

 

Trying

 

 

It’s a clean and modern space,I observe .Fitting for a medical centre. Magazines from three years ago line the shelves,haphazardly placed and annoyingly,not in an alphabetical or by date.I’ve been waiting for an appointment that was supposed to begin 10 minutes ago to the dot.There is no sense of order here  but at least it is clean. A still full hand sanitizer sits by the children’s play area right in the centre of the room. A chirpy lady beckons me over .

She goes through the questions somewhat too cheerfully.Must be new,I guess by the overly tight bun and immaculately applied but retail nonetheless, makeup. If you can call it that.

“Are you pregnant or could there be any chance that you might be pregnant?”

I am taken aback by this particular question.I find it insensitive but I suppose,necessary. It’s not her fault,I remind myself.

“No.” I answer after an awkward minute of her staring at me like I’m an idiot who can’t understand English.

Medical checkup done,I browse aimlessly in Myers occasionally greeting the staff who are on first name basis with me after all this time. I wonder what goes on in their heads as they look at me.

Glamorous,young, brand whore trophy wife.Always alone,always.

At the ladies toilets, a bewildered woman  with a stroller almost knocks me over on her way out. “Sorry” she mutters more to her baby than to me it seems. I catch a glimpse of the baby and marvel at the chubby cheeks,large inquiring blue eyes and a pink satin bow adorning what looks to be the beginnings of a brown mane matching the curls of  those on the head and shoulders of the lady pushing the stroller.

“She’s beautiful” I muse. You lucky unkept bitch.

She offers “Thanks.She’s also being good today,which is unusual”

I watch them leave until they turn the corner and out of my view.

 

I walk into the house resolute.I’m going to make the two of us a beautiful dish and then I’ll casually bring up the topic of trying again for a child.Either that,or I’ll ply him with enough alcohol and get it over and done with,which would probably take less effort.

I see the bouquet of yellow orchids and white lilies on the counter top. A note sits next to it,my name in handwriting so fancy I know it wasn’t personally written by my husband .

“Sorry, won’t be back until next Friday.Love, C.M. ”

Defeated,I reach for a red wine bottle.The first of many drinks for tonight.