A time when I reflect on what I've achieved. Or. In my case. How much I've screwed things up still further since my last time round the sun. The big difference is when I had this conversation with myself last year I was in a cold room in Barnes. This year, I did it looking down on Limehouse Cut and watching the ripples go by. This year was nicer.
So, there I was, this morning, sitting on the Hell and Calamity line, as it should really be known, listening to Edith Piaf, and I got to ponder on the lyrics from La Vie en Rose. Her signature piece.
About half way through she has a short, spoken, monologue which is, roughly, thus:
I thought that love was just a wordYep. That.
They sang about in songs I heard
It took your kisses to reveal
That I was wrong and love is real
Sadly, I discovered the reality of this, ooh, way to late. And there's the problem. I'm having difficulty moving on. I admit it. I know it will happen eventually. I know that the reality is that hope long since faded to nothing. But I also know I can't even vaguely get interested in another person until I can, to use the phrase once more, move on.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not being maudlin. I'm being realistic. Taking a long hard look at myself, and it's not a pretty sight I can tell you, and realising that, actually, it's time to accept that maybe I need to aim for neutrality and nothingness before I can even hope to feel affection and, dare I say it, the L word.
The reality is though that it's unlikely to happen again. Why? Well, simply because I'm just not interested any more. And not being interested means I'm not going to look and I'm pretty certain that not looking will lead directly to not finding. Could be wrong. A good chance I'm not.
It's not negative though. I'm recognising this early. Accepting even. And working on what I can do to fill the void. Not that I've got any answers yet, but working on it has to be a good thing.
Yes?
No comments:
Post a Comment