a place to hide

A sense of contentment has descended upon me over the past few days. Maybe that is why my writing has become sporadic. In someways I have become used to this, it is a completely different way of approaching a situation. Before there was a duty, now there is but a suggestion, sometimes not even that.

Although some days I do feel like the femme fatal of many a french film, batting my eyes at the lapping men while I know there is no chance in hell it would happen. Just for kicks, just for kicks. It does sound awful but it's fun. Why not when you are young an unattached.

But then you realize that the men that have been and gone, or so you thought, are still clinging on with their bleeding fingertips to the last humane feeling left in you, guilt.

I was at a party and it was going particularly well. The people, music, atmosphere, drugs, dancing and so on were up to scratch for once. And I had brought along a new girlfriend to introduce her to the lot. Half way through the seemingly successful evening I spotted him arriving. The danger approached, with his hair and his face.

From his eyes I knew this was bad news, they swam like children; skipping with glee and intoxication. He span me on to the dance floor and for a moment it felt like the old times. We would escape our friends and gossip into this dungeon club with sweat seeping from the walls and dance with tequila and beer.

He was the man who only last week told me he had fallen in love with another woman and I was so happy for him. Now he clasped his arms around my waist and filled my ear with nonsense. Like a love potion poured in by a witch.

All I could do, as it is that all I can ever do these days, was run.

I think my legs are getting a little tired of the run, maybe I should rest where no one can find me.