Monday, 27 August 2012

"Love, love, the low smokes roll / From me like Isadora's scarves..."

Perhaps I was never in love with Theo, perhaps I was in love with a character I had created from the pages of the novels I had read and dreamt of. Part Heathcliff, part Sebastian Flyte, part Hamlet perhaps (though it feels sacrilegious even comparing them). But the passion and the fire and the pain were just... wonderful. God damn if I ever can experience that again...

I wonder why I had loved Alex so much and clung on so desperately to him when it seems so glaringly obvious now that he could never have satisfied me? He is with a girl now, so perfect for him. I suppose, when I look at it from his point of view he had his fun, he ticked the box of going out with a wild one, then he went his way - the way he knew he always would. A lovely girl, plain, simple, safe, obviously lovely. Someone he can go on romantic walks in the countryside with, who will eat eggs and bacon and sausages with him in the morning.

But Theo would never have satisfied me either. Satisfied my yearning to be in the middle of wild, romantic, terrible tale of heartache - yes. But not satisfied the happy ending I so vehemently claim to desire. That little Alex's ending right there. Although I know I am not the girl who can ever do that or be happy doing that.


I went out with a guy on Monday. I had met him at some classes for the finance exams I did before the Summer. He was the only guy in the class I had been attracted to, so of course, I made my resolve to have him. I messaged him the other week, pretending to ask advice. He offered to meet up with me. So we did. And by the time I left him an hour later, I had him wrapped around my little finger. All week he has been trying to get me to go out with him again.
He's a great catch: 27 years old, cute smile, grounded, well-paid, works in Investment in the City...
Of course. But I got what I wanted, played a little game, had my little kick. No. There is no passion there. I don't care what the good girls say, I only want passion, I only want intense feeling, I only want adrenaline. I don't want nice, or well-paid or grounded.
I don't want to see him again.

But Oliver on the other hand... I want to see him again. I sat there opposite him last week trying to imagine what it would be like to have sex with him. There's no way he'd know how to touch a woman, how to excite me or make me burst with desire. I'd like to be proved wrong but I doubt I will.
But I am going to have sex with him. Because I decided I would. And after that it will probably be over. I cannot let myself fall for an 18 year old.
And that's obviously why I'm doing this, playing out a little One Direction fantasy, being a little bit bad, doing something that everyone tells me not to do. Cos it's fun; cos I'm bored.
The more my friends told me to walk away from Theo, the more determined I was to have him,

You know, sometimes you have to write things you don't want to admit. I'm holding my hands up here. This is what this blog is for. No fabrications, no lovely frilly stories. This is not some fucking entertainment. This is the dark/sad/pathetic reality of who I am.
*shrugs shoulders*
I wish that the truth were nicer. But I cannot make it so.
But then, perhaps I know that in writing this I am trying to make it ok to myself, trying to make an excuse - rightly or wrongly. It's ok that I have failed at love, for I decided that I wanted to, deep down I was always in control... I was in a fright one scarf will catch and anchor in the wheel. Don't want to be hurt my therapist says.


Oliver is a musician, at music college, will probably spend his life playing in orchestras. It's already his life now. And I admire him for it so very much. He knows it is not a stable, well-paid career, but he has made his choices based on what he loves, and it's very clear from his dedication that he loves it deeply.
I told him I admired it:
"I think it's wonderful. If I had my way, I'd sit in my room and write all day," I told him.
"Really?!" He seemed shocked. Naturally so, since the girl he'd met was so openly hell-bent on her career in the City.
"Yes, of course, I studied English Literature, I loved it, I love words, I love art, beauty... But I wasn't as brave as you. I wanted a career, a steady job. I was too afraid to do what I loved."

Even now, if I could go back to University and have my chance again, I'd study Economics. How sad is that.

There is no room for love in the world. At least, no room for it in the world I want to live in.

2 comments:

  1. Ophelia, it's obvious that you love the rush, passion, adrenaline, like you pointed out many times. Sometimes we want contradictory things: simple love and passion, security and uncertainty. Maybe one day when you're done with leading a wild passionate life, you'll be ready for that happy ending. I hope you'll end up with someone who treats you well when you get there.

    On a side note, I completely understand your love for English yet choosing Economics if you had to do it over again. I'm studying both in undergrad because I can't choose between the two and can only finish one while still having the other. Maybe all English majors have a love for art and beauty.

    xx Alice

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  2. The world is a terrible place, I can't look at it without feeling sad. I've decided not to care about anyone that doesn't deserve it, it's the only way to stay alive.


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