Q1 2010

January to February
On the surface I’m normal, he’d never suspect
The stuff that goes on in my head quite unchecked.
I’ve seen him three times in a month, maybe less,
But I’ve thought of him three times a minute, I’d guess.
I can’t sleep at night and my appetite’s crappy
Though the side-effect weightloss is making me happy.

Six weeks ago, I had not spared him a thought;
I was far more excited about new boots I’d bought
And whether they’d go with my TX Maxx jeans,
I didn’t have time for old flames from my teens.
But then when his message arrived in my inbox
The memories hit: I was instantly intox-
icated, intrigued, my heart was a-flutter,
Fine in one moment, the next I’m a nutter.
What would he be like? And would he remember
That magical August that stopped in September?
Was he getting in touch to be friends, was he single?
I cross-checked with Facebook, felt my fingertips tingle:
It said he was interested in “whatever he could get,”
What beautiful words! I broke out in a sweat.
I’d not seen him once in a decade and a half,
But I was pretty convinced that he’d still make me laugh;
His email was funny and the rest of his page
Showed a young man still happy to take centre stage.
His grin was infectious, his friends clearly loyal,
His holidays temperate. (The pan’s on the boil
For the bunny, alright, but stalking online
Is normal these days, I tell you, it’s fine.)

We exchange several emails, then meet at a bar
And the moment I see him I feel quite bizarre.
He looks just the same and he buys us some drinks
I’m trying to see - can I tell what he thinks?
But as ever, he’s perky and jovial and charming
His generous nature is almost disarming
He touches my arm and he’s joyous, hedonic,
So there’s no way to guess if it’s more than platonic.
A few minutes later, he reaches towards me
And straightens a lock of my hair: this affords me
A moment to think he is feeling romantic,
My stomach shoots skywards and heads transatlantic.
Yet when it’s all over, we walk towards the station,
He kisses me once on each cheek – such frustration.

And thus so began two point five weeks of hell
An email a day still unable to quell
The fact that I knew that unless he soon kissed me
I’d have to implore him: “Hey, please, don’t resist me.”
We finally found a date mutually convenient
(I must have seemed chilled – I could only act lenient).
When the eve came around, I felt shattered with nerves
Still, I tried to look hot and accentuate my curves,
And remember that he could still turn out to be
A drug-addict paedo with AIDS and TB.

But there’s nowt I can do on that second occasion
The sight of him hits like the Norman invasion.
We talk for an hour and laugh oh-so-much,
And I’m sure I can feel mutual sparks when we touch,
But still I can’t tell if he wants us to kiss
Or if this is just one other night on the piss.
I panic that after a glass or two more
I’ll blurt something stupid and kill the rapport,
So I finally stretch out my hand one more inch,
And thus starts a highly-charged manual clinch,
We lock eyes, mine green, his more aquamarine,
Then we kiss for the first time since I was eighteen.

The rest of the night is a haze of romance
We walk through the Barbican in some sort of trance.
As we reach Moorgate tube, I tell him adieu,
And he accidentally says ‘God bless – love you!’
I giggle and gasp and he looks a bit coy
But I know what he means and I feel the same joy.
So heady and vibrant, so dance on the ceiling,
It’s the best type of high, an absurdly good feeling.

By then, you’d think, I would feel quite reassured,
But I felt like I’d crashed my dad’s car, uninsured.
Yes, he did kiss me and was still sending emails
But he was probably writing to hundreds of females.
We set on a date a week later to meet
And my sanity once again took a backseat.
My whole life seemed to be: plan an email, write it,
Press send, re-read constantly, panic, recite it,
Worry that something has been misconstrued
And what seemed so funny is really quite rude,
Check inbox, check inbox, check inbox again
More stress in my head than within the U.N.
The reply appears finally, I scan for rejections,
Then read it again and spot spelling corrections.
The butterflies calm for a couple of seconds
But still I don’t know what he truthfully reckons.
His actions are keen, that’s certainly true
But until he has said, “I must be with you,
And I want you to be mine and just mine alone.”
I cannot relax with my status unknown.

The third date was much the same mood as the last,
A magical eve, for me unsurpassed.
We kissed again, laughed, and took pics on self-timer,
It could have been taken from ‘Dating: The Primer’.
But still I was worried that we weren’t exclusive;
The evening’s end was, for me, yet inconclusive.
He accepted an invite to dinner with friends,
A thought that would give most men bouts of the bends,
But Valentine’s came and our comms took a breather
(I was thrilled I had not sent him anything either).
We had a date planned and were still texting often
But I felt his affections were starting to soften,
And yes, I was right, because date number four
Was the last one we went on – our 'us' was no more.

When he told me that this was the end of the line
My jaw hit the floor, couldn’t claim to be fine.
I was shocked and felt foolish, could not comprehend
How I’d thought it was on while he’d hit a dead end.
He said all the stuff I’ve heard too much before,
How I’m awesome and perfect and gorgeous and more,
Yet there’s still something missing, a 'click' or a 'spark',
I tell him that’s bollocks, we light up the dark.
He admits to me that it is true he has issues
So why is it me who’s left holding the tissues?
I say that he’s wrong, that he’s missing a trick,
That giving up after four dates is just thick,
But there’s no point in fighting, he's drawn his conclusions,
And I’m not going to live with pathetic delusions.
So he leaves and I sit there, alone and bemused,
Bruised, refused, dazed, confused, quite unamused.

The hours go by slowly, his emails no longer
A highlight of work days, I slowly get stronger.
I still think about him too often, I know,
Although I’ve accepted I have to let go.
I know he had flaws but they weren’t deal-breakers –
It’s not like he wanted his kids to be Quakers.
I thought he was great, and it’s tough to admit
That my judgment was wrong and he’s really a git.
Well, OK, that’s too harsh, he’s not all that bad,
But surely he should be pursuing me like mad?
I’m clearly amazing, he must be insane
To be letting me go, for a life without Jane
Is not nearly so funny, or honest or thrilling;
In the cast list of London I’d give me top billing.

March
And now I look back on the saga, resigned.
I gave him my best, so I have peace of mind.
What’s good is that I still think I am a catch
And if he can’t see that, then we’re clearly no match.
I’ll trundle on forwards, to Lapland, beyond,
And then when the love god gives a wave of his wand
I’ll be ready and willing, albeit more cautious
The thought of this happening again makes me nauseous.
But opening one’s heart up to love is a gamble
It’s rarely plain-sailing, more often a scramble
O’er barnacled rocks that might just lead to heaven,
A private, untouched beach, a hot day in Devon,
Or, even more likely, a trip and a fall,
A grazed arm, a sprained leg, and joy? Bugger all.
But the risk that it might yet work out justifies
Continuing efforts, and many more tries.

I don’t need a boyfriend to buy me nice wine,
I pay my own mortgage, I’m doing just fine.
But that’s not to imply I don’t crave that sensation
Of strong arms around me (not a blood relation)
A deep voice that says ‘I’ll take good care of you’
A feeling of safety that seems overdue.
A sense of relief, it’s no longer just me –
No need to feel lonely, or all out at sea.
‘Til then I’ll continue to be young and glad
That I don’t have a boyfriend, they do drive me mad
With their moans and their lateness, their wet towels and snoring,
The un-PC jokes that recall Hermann Goering.
My life at the moment is totally easy,
I’m utterly selfish, sharing makes me queasy.
So maybe this whole thing’s a lucky escape
And one day the truth will begin to take shape.
For now I’ll continue to blunder with joy
And not let my smiles be dented by a boy.