I hated you. I hated you for so long.
We’re sitting at some crappy restaurant, Collingwood. Or was it Fitzroy? I don’t know. There were beards and socks with patterns, I recall that. I recall you sipping your wine and ignoring the silent vibration of your iPhone with that guy’s name who wants to fuck you flashing on it. What was his name? Collin. That’s it. Who the fuck names their kid Collin anyway — fuck that guy. He always shakes my hand at parties talking to me about the footy and pretending we’re best mates pretending to not like each other pretending like you wouldn’t fuck my girl if given half the chance. And I don’t give a fuck if that doesn’t make sense because the right people will get it and Collin you’re reading this right now and you don’t even know it do you mate?
We’re still at the restaurant and you’re pissed at me because of some stupid shit I did when I was drunk. You’re ignoring a second emoji-laden text from Collin and I’m feigning interest in the menu when I know I’m going to get the yellow curry and you’re going to get the hokkien noodles just like every second fucking Tuesday. I glance up at you and catch you scrunching your nose up like a rabbit as your eyes trace the poorly laminated menu. You haven’t noticed me looking at you, you’re about to grab a strand of hair which has escaped from your fringe and gently brush it behind your ear and then one more nose wiggle – there it is. You always do that when you’re contemplating possible paths. You did it when deciding which uni to attend and did it the other day when I asked you if we should get the large popcorn or the medium. It’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
God I loved you.
We’re on a rollercoaster. It’s old and wooden and it’s slowly creeping up to the bit where everyone screams and you regret every life choice you made leading up to that point. I usually hate this shit and you were throwing up in the bushes near our camp about an hour ago but everything seems like a good idea when you’re on your second tab of acid and your bodies wrapped together feel so fucking warm that you just want to scream from the pure bliss of it all. Carnival lights. Moths to a flame.
For some reason I always think of that song by Vance Joy. Every damn day it floats into my mind at some point or another. You know the one, the one we used to sing until we couldn’t breathe as we flew down the freeway in my shitty car with the stuffed blinkers which only worked whenever they felt like it. I ended up fixing them by the way.
I’m in my apartment and I’m fucking her and I’m thinking of you and it just doesn’t feel the same and of course I told her that it was amazing when she asked. And she curled up to me and we slept for a while but she isn’t you and I loved it and hated it in the same damn breath. She’s still asleep as the morning sun creeps through the slithers of curtain. I sneak to the roof in nothing but soccer shorts and light a smoke. I think of you. She texts me asking where I am.
I think of you.
You text me late at night while Steven passes a joint to me. I see your name and skip a beat admittedly. I step outside the room and attempt to stop my spinning head, open your text.
It was always you.
That’s all it said. Few days later I called you on your cell, but got your mother instead.
The sun’s going down and all the black suits and black dresses have long gone home. You’re sitting across from me and I’m balling my eyes out telling you I love you as we sit amongst the stones of marble. I’m sobbing like a child and it’s raining. I go to hug you but it’s too late. I’m on my hands and knees and scream as I pound the mud below me with my fist. The tears blend with the rain but you don’t react. You just sit there scrunching your nose the way you do and look at me with those eyes that tell me not to cry and that it’s all ok. I look at you and you look back at me with that smile of a fucking angel until you begin to fade, until the smoky composite image is gone and all that remains is a piece of marble with your name inscribed.