So, we had to suffer you for a few more years. For, we still observed the limits of decency and politeness. And all that poppycock we were taught as children. Bright eyed dressed in clean white shirts and navy blue ‘four fingers above the knee’ length skirts repeating words that little did we know would haunt us for a lifetime. And so here we were trapped by morality and righteousness and you.
You who would ruin a beautiful December night when the street lights shimmered in the still waters of the canals by shouting, “This will be my best birthday ever!” Unmindful of the empty eyes and pale faces, drained of every life essence, straggling along with you. The poor sods weren’t even rewarded with a piece of cake for their efforts.
You who would go on to drive away the one, who hypnotized himself to believe he was in love with you, to madness and India, where he still can be found searching for adventure and meaning and other such mindless drivel.
You who would with the flick of your hair and the flashing of your eyelids at a dinner party in a restaurant, devastate families; turn a brother against his sister. And inflict other such mundane catastrophe. All before the drinks even arrived.
You who would come to the station in some godforsaken corner of Europe dragging the burden of all your past seven lives and then look at us. Look at us to pick up your bloody bags and tidy up the messy remains.
You who would with your false smile, the glint in your teeth, the bitter sweetness in your voice come to our home unannounced and try to steal my confidence, trample my ego and secretly spit on my beauty.
You who to be honest was nothing more than an irritant. An unwelcome, unwanted, uninteresting presence. A gadfly. We bore with you in extreme politeness. And so, as the voices from the past grew somewhat dull we did what is done in still civil societies. We blocked your email and deleted you from our phone book.
You who would ruin a beautiful December night when the street lights shimmered in the still waters of the canals by shouting, “This will be my best birthday ever!” Unmindful of the empty eyes and pale faces, drained of every life essence, straggling along with you. The poor sods weren’t even rewarded with a piece of cake for their efforts.
You who would go on to drive away the one, who hypnotized himself to believe he was in love with you, to madness and India, where he still can be found searching for adventure and meaning and other such mindless drivel.
You who would with the flick of your hair and the flashing of your eyelids at a dinner party in a restaurant, devastate families; turn a brother against his sister. And inflict other such mundane catastrophe. All before the drinks even arrived.
You who would come to the station in some godforsaken corner of Europe dragging the burden of all your past seven lives and then look at us. Look at us to pick up your bloody bags and tidy up the messy remains.
You who would with your false smile, the glint in your teeth, the bitter sweetness in your voice come to our home unannounced and try to steal my confidence, trample my ego and secretly spit on my beauty.
You who to be honest was nothing more than an irritant. An unwelcome, unwanted, uninteresting presence. A gadfly. We bore with you in extreme politeness. And so, as the voices from the past grew somewhat dull we did what is done in still civil societies. We blocked your email and deleted you from our phone book.
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