Strings Attached.

There are strings as far as the eye can see,
Between you and me.
They disappear around corners,
They wrap around memories I vaguely remember existing.
There are clusters of webs in the streets between our houses where we walked, ate, kissed
And there are long silky chords through routes in Soho and Peckham
Stretching and expanding
Reaching out.
And you are the at the end of the strings
Like a dog walker at the helm of unruly animals
Cutting them and expelling them
While I tug-of-war them just to get close to you.



He unbuttoned the top button of my shirt and pushed me down into the seat of the chair. I didn’t know what was about to happen. I didn’t care. Categorically speaking I was a non-mover. Perhaps I mean in terms of where I was going in my life, but more likely┬áI mean physically at that moment. In that moment, when he looked me directly in the eyes, he glared into my increasingly small yet almond-shaped eyes, and he said, “you are like no one I’ve ever met before”. Immediately, and without true consent from the reasonable-side of my brain, I calmly said, “you are like every other person on the planet and this is why I feel safe with you”. There was no show to put on. No Facade. It felt empty. I had come looking for him, and this emptiness meant he was now looking for me. I tried not to think too much about this sunken feeling and how ordinary he was as he undid the rest of the buttons on my shirt.