You are back. With your glasses instead of hair. You put your big ass on the small blue chair and you pout or smile slightly. What are you thinking I am thinking. Oh god. You start humming. You start HUMMING. Emmmmmmmmmmm. To the cheesy music of this cafe, which is actually far less disturbing than I imagined it to be. Just don't talk to me. Please do not address. me. You hold now your lips together, as if you have heard me. Please don't talk to me, just keep humming. Emmmmmmmmmm. I know what you've done. You have taken your coffee and moved downstairs. Where it is very dark and very warm. I think you expect me to follow you. You expect me to follow you, sit next to you and keep typing, while you slip your hand in between my thighs while sucking your thumb at the same time. Now I cannot even go to the toilet; that was the whole point, to have an americano and go to the toilet. You bitch.

You have no hair whatsoever just a few blonde hair sticking up on top of your eyebrows; and you wear sunglasses instead of hair. What a fucking weirdo you are, looking at me so intensely from such a close distance. This is a public space after all. And I already have someone I love.

I am holding my breath. One two three. Seriously. I am holding my breath while typing. I am holding my breath to see how long it will take you to reach me. I am trying to reach you. I am trying to reach you. I am holding my breath. I make drafts of unnecessary chapters and trying to reach you. An old man with a blazer passes next to me, he smells of moth bolls. Doesn't he know these things are toxic. I am trying to reach you. He just needs the toilet. He says it out loud. I just need the toilet. Now I do too. Cause I am trying to reach you. And I can't stand moth balls. You know. I could do many things, but I am still holding my breath.

So you broke up over sauce hollandaise and raspberries. These things can be important. Sometimes I do not have time for any of it and others I keep thinking. I am in a foul mood and you read your newspaper next to the window.

I have to try to get out of bed as soon as I can and go and have a dump. How disgusting and how dare you talk like that. I will wash my hair, perhaps, and pretend I am ten kilos less and have a kiwi for lunch. My garden is a sunny one with two red chairs. You have never seen it and you might never do. But if you come one day, I will make something special. Venison or something.

Now this might be a long one. Because I have lots to say and nothing at all. Because you say I should remain the same and then you don't like your dinger in my ass your tits next to mine. You don't want to walk all the way to the train, or make an omelette without help. You sit on your carpet and tell me how we are incompatible. And then you tell me keep loving it. I will keep loving it now from a distance and I will eat sweet and savoury and listen to the radio and think of you.