Met a girl I used to know. Have a drink. Stuff in the air. Ask about her current fortune. She shakes her head. I light a cigarette and remember the past. Passionate. Car crash. Hanging on for both our lives. How about you, she asks. I shake my head. Lonely, she sighs, licking her pink glistening lips with the tip of her tongue. I nod. Stuff in the air.
I know want she's thinking. But it wouldn't work. She likes bastards. I wouldn't stand a chance. Broken in two. Torn to pieces. Sip my drink. Contemplate sleeping around. Ignoring her needs. Treat em mean. Pretend I don't give a fuck. Spend the day impressing mates. Ignore the phone calls. I know how to do it - I just don't like the rules. She licks her lips once more. I smile. She smiles. Stuff in the air.
I watch her reminisce. I gave her stuff. Stuff the bastards could never give. I made her feel. Really feel. I noticed the tiniest things about her. I made her question the reason she sleeps with six-foot shaven-headed ice blocks that leave her crying on the floor. She smiles at me. I smile at her. Stuff in the air. Fucking hell.
Then it begins. Sucks me in. Pushes me away. She licks her lips more slowly this time. Allowing the wine to linger a little longer. Begins to play with the chain around her neck. Smiles. Doesn't say a word. Not a single word. Just leaves me hanging. Waiting. Wanting. Say something. Anything. Nothing. Not a single word. Then with one dismissive shake of the head, she pushes me away once more. Torn to pieces. Broken in two. She just laughs. She just laughs.
Time to go. Just one more, she begs. Still playing with the possible maybes. Life. Politics. Teenage nightmares laying naked on the table. She is amazing. Fucking amazing. If only she knew. But she doesn't know. That's why she likes bastards. Treat em mean. Torn to pieces. Playing with fire. Stuff in the air. She smiles at me. I hold back the tears. Time to go. Time to go.
Hastards of the world unite! You have nothing to lose but your H's!
Sorry. I'm lowering the quality tone again, aren't I? So I shall reiterate again that, having read this for the nth time (more times than I care to admit, in other words), it's still an absolutely lovely post.
And you're still a hastard.
Posted by: An Unreliable Witness | February 07, 2007 at 02:41 PM
I am that girl. And it's rubbish.
Posted by: Cat | February 07, 2007 at 03:09 PM
I'll just leave my usual clunky comment and say this:
Blimey
Posted by: Timbo | February 07, 2007 at 04:19 PM
blimey is a good comment
Posted by: andre | February 07, 2007 at 05:27 PM
Wow. It's so lovely and so sad. But I almost feel for her more than for you... she's missing out on you, a guy who 'noticed the tiniest things about her', and she won't even know why; she doesn't realise how amazing she is because she just keeps proving to herself that she's not. At least you can recognise what's happening, and know enough to save yourself, which is surely a sign of hope for you. But then I feel for you too.
Posted by: Emma | February 07, 2007 at 06:12 PM
Bugger. I always miss the leaving train. The bells ring, the whistles blow, and somebody somewhere blogs "Time to go" and me? Un. Move. Able.
Posted by: fionat | February 07, 2007 at 06:34 PM
Shoot, Andre. How can anyone resist a man with words like yours? Bastards be damned.
Posted by: la fille | February 07, 2007 at 07:37 PM
When you stop wanting girls who only want you if they think you don't want them, you will meet a girl who wants you and who you want. Does this make sense?? Evocative writing.
Posted by: Kerstin | February 07, 2007 at 07:39 PM
Do you really exist?
Does she know you write this beautifully about her?
I wish somebody wrote like that about me.
Intense.
Posted by: salvora | February 07, 2007 at 08:16 PM
she only likes bastards...
do you only like women who don't like men like you?
just a thought, i wouldn't know
Posted by: salvora | February 07, 2007 at 08:20 PM
they call me a writer. i can't write anything good enough for that. so i shall brood and brood and brood.
Posted by: {illyria} | February 08, 2007 at 02:01 AM
Pulled out of lurking/swooning in the corner. Perhaps you should show her this post. No woman would resist.
Posted by: Caroline | February 08, 2007 at 02:25 AM
Andre, you made get all teary... not with the main post, though it was beautiful with one of your comments "I am aware of my silent readers. My stats tell me that you are out there. And I understand why you prefer to read in silence. But, 'Hello silent readers'
*waves*"... I'm glad you understand *waves back*... actually you know what? *hugs*
Posted by: Debs | February 08, 2007 at 02:55 AM
I keep coming back to reread this and still can't think of anything much to say.
Sad and touching.
Posted by: just a girl | February 08, 2007 at 03:10 AM
I feel like I've been overusing the pause I bought from Miss Tickle and just thought I'd say
You made her feel, you made her question, the rest is mostly up to her.
Fitter, happier
Posted by: Caroline the Insignificant | February 08, 2007 at 03:41 AM
wow... absolutely the best I've read here.
It strikes home.
Posted by: Jean | February 08, 2007 at 04:35 AM
ugh still hurts reading that.
maybe more so third time round.
she'll learn. but by that time so will you i guess.
bugger.
Posted by: keda | February 08, 2007 at 05:27 AM
Reminds me of that song by The Mighty Sparrow, a Trini calypsonian, "Black up she eye, bruise up she knee, she will love you eternally."
Posted by: guyana-gyal | February 08, 2007 at 08:00 AM
not necessarily a silent reader.. but just found your writing. :)
Posted by: maryelizabeth | February 08, 2007 at 08:59 AM
I love this post :)
Posted by: Cheerful One | February 08, 2007 at 11:56 AM
Wow. Just... wow. Hastard or not, that's pretty darn amazing.
Posted by: Wontar | February 08, 2007 at 11:57 AM
you are amazing
Posted by: Rachel | February 08, 2007 at 12:15 PM
As we say in my neck of the woods "the man has skills." Great stuff.
Posted by: Treasure Island Gal | February 08, 2007 at 03:06 PM
Sheer poetry. Thank you for sharing.
Posted by: Farty | February 08, 2007 at 05:51 PM
Oh Andre, beautiful and bitter and solemn and sweet and melancholy and amazing and aching, oh... purely fabulous.
x
Posted by: ladymissmarquise | February 08, 2007 at 07:22 PM
you are all too kind.
Posted by: andre | February 09, 2007 at 03:40 AM
This is my first time on your blog. How very fascinating.
Posted by: Maryam in Marrakesh | February 10, 2007 at 07:33 AM
Andre, would you (have you) ever publish a book full of your gentle doodlings and lovely words? I would love to read your drawings and look at your writings in a corner of a library or sitting on a bench in the garden but alas, I don't have a laptop.
~ J
Posted by: j | February 11, 2007 at 12:21 AM
Post of the Week! Thought it would be...
Posted by: mike | February 11, 2007 at 05:41 PM
*curtsies*
http://www.postoftheweek.com/
Posted by: andre | February 11, 2007 at 05:55 PM
*wonders if one should post part 2 or stop whilst on a high*
Posted by: andre | February 11, 2007 at 05:59 PM
I was that girl.
I'm not anymore.
Thank you.
Please post part 2.
Posted by: Grania | February 11, 2007 at 06:18 PM
Still beautiful, Andre.
Posted by: The Girl | February 11, 2007 at 06:39 PM
Stunning.
Posted by: Zinnia Cyclamen | February 12, 2007 at 03:12 AM
you are all most kind.
Posted by: andre | February 12, 2007 at 03:36 AM
alas. I am that girl because I am scared to death of hurting beautiful people like you.
I'm such a coward. You are beautiful.
Posted by: kori | February 12, 2007 at 10:13 AM
A most beautiful post Andre.
Don't look back...the future lies ahead.
You are getting very, very wise.
Posted by: Darcy | February 13, 2007 at 02:21 AM
I enjoyed that Andre. Here via Zinnia. If I may be facetitious I'll bet she had Juicy Fruit Raspberry flavour on her lucious lips. I have melon on mine. 'Scuse me whilst i have a lick:)
Posted by: Pat | February 13, 2007 at 05:02 AM
Stunning - well played.
Posted by: Cliff | February 13, 2007 at 02:00 PM
I am living a version of this right now, only I don't go for the bastards :)
We have a history, going back 17 years when we were in highschool.. we have love, he remembers the tiniest details, pays attention, drives me insane,challenges me, inspires me, writes to me every day, has the most beautiful green eyes that could level me in a second, and yet he shies away.
Oh, how I love him. I love him so much I ache. And yet I shy away. I don't want to.
How I wish that one day he decides to stay...
Posted by: aj | February 14, 2007 at 09:29 PM
beautiful, sad, intense and real. write a book, please.
Posted by: mel | February 15, 2007 at 04:40 AM
beautiful, sad, intense and real. write a book, please.
Posted by: mel | February 15, 2007 at 04:40 AM
Knowing when to go is, perhaps, the greatest skill, and one of the hardest to master. All power to you.
Lovely writing.
Puss
Posted by: Glamourpuss | February 15, 2007 at 07:33 AM
ravishing..i absolutley loved it. :)
Posted by: Allie | February 18, 2007 at 06:03 AM
Gorgeous. I've never been so rewarded for procrastinating. Clients be damned - you are writing my heart.
Posted by: Dori Lynn | February 23, 2007 at 01:06 PM
I used to fall for bastards. Now I've realized how wonderful you nice guys are. Problem is, the nice guys keep leaving me. They make me fall in love and need them, and then they leave me standing there all alone aching for them to hold me and make it better. And because they're nice and kind and wonderful, I can't hate them for leaving.
Posted by: skiergirl | February 23, 2007 at 02:27 PM
I'd best de-lurk:
Phwooar!
;-)
Posted by: Her | February 23, 2007 at 02:46 PM
oy! where's the rest??
Posted by: keda | February 23, 2007 at 04:32 PM
The rest is currently in my head, fermenting.
Posted by: andre | February 23, 2007 at 06:56 PM
This has made me exclaim at my computer screen. I exclaimed, Andre, man, you have to talk to this girl. She's sitting licking her lips in front of you, she wants one more of something. She feels worthless. You're feeling terrible. Now I'm feeling terrible. She's older and wiser and fucking amazing. Call her. Give her the benefit of the doubt. Show her what you wrote.
That's beautiful writing, Andre. I'm so sorry it was painful.
Posted by: Sam, Problemchildbride | February 23, 2007 at 07:25 PM