Wave

Monday nights with Fred Feast. She never liked these times. The unknown was 'silly and English'. I was 'so talented'. She said it like criticism. Life passed her by while she was waiting for him to come back from the pub. Turn the clock back- a cursed beginning but I care about you. You don't want me to talk to people who aren't right for me. Nights out- if you can 'pull' then you're not a social misfit. You are always invited. I'm sorry. Turbulent loss.You bring me magazine photo spreads. It all brings me back to running into the water at 15. Wearing shorts at beach parties. I was uninvited. It was all impossible- the glances and the inevitables that you all get given. I'm the village idiot. Christopher Jones. Woodland scenes. A car set on fire. You told me once that you didn't fit in. I didn't believe you then and I still don't. I'm always passing on the blame. YOU don't understand. I AM UNWELL. I tell mothers I'm versed in many languages. Where was I at Sunday school and at street parties? Inclusion. I was inside scratching the skirting boards. What is longing? Is it anything at all? I bought a Genoa Cake and ate it to forget. I want a range life. Endless. Hospitalisation. Hopeless night with a car alarm out back. Stilted range. Where have I gone? Where have I been? I was somewhere hiding 'til it got quiet and cold...