Lovesickness is like grieving. So, I use Chris' illness to cry about Kurtis.

Are these boys astonishing? Maybe? I have no idea if they are a distraction or the whole fucking point.

Is focusing on them a way of focusing on you?
Exhausted by all the bullshit. I've seen all the pictures, I went to the exhibitions.
Bring in another boy!
Don't stand still, it will hurt, it will stink, it will burn. Bring in another boy, admit defeat, cover up the pain. Don't miss him, don't miss him, it's too painful, or miss him, but make sure you find someone else quickly. Cover it up, cover it up new. You don't want to be lovesick for too long.

Find someone with gorgeous lips to forget about him. or find a Dom to tell you what to do. Or find someone with a prominent jaw or a beard that goes all the way to their ears, or someone with big eyeballs. But I want him. His eyeballs, his gorgeous lips. No, you have to find someone else, you can't commit to one person again and lose yourself. Just find someone old or young or middle-aged it don't matter. Just anyone. I'm basically looking for holes. Not unbearable holes. Just really spectacular, beautiful holes where I can stick my fingers and toes and relax for the night. I'm basically looking for a snack to nibble on. Not too salty or too sweet, just your average nibble.

You don't owe me anything. We said goodbye by Sainsbury's. You said you like my voice.

But you are awful on the phone. It's ok to have an awful phone manner as long s your bed side manner is good.

I'm so depressed I have a belly. I thin of my belly as an extended field of ugly herbaceous stems that extends beyond where the eye can reach. It is the kind of field that has holes in places and can suck you down. I feel the same about my lower belly, pubes and bones. I never said I don't have Herpes, I only said it's been dormant for a while.

I don't want to meet anyone married for a while. Not for chatting, not for fucking, not for company. This is not for me. All this Simon business has totally put me off. I can never comprehend how the here works. First you totally go for it, utterly overwhelmed by the incredible imaginings of hope - you dance like crazy and fuck up the ass - even the poop doesn't bother you.

THROW UP THE POOP
THROW UP THE POOP

And 8 months later you are tired of his dick and blame the birth control pill. You are in Greece for holidays and your vagina is dry as fuck and the only thing that excites you is designer jewellery or a chocolate donut.