I Think That's The Function Of A

He Was A Super Shiny Boy And I Liked The Shape Of Him. Under The Blanket. In The Shower. I Liked His Shadow On The Street And His Imprint On The Sofa. I Hated The Smell Of Hair Gel On His Head, But I Loved It On The Pillow. I Love The Smell Of Losing Someone.

My Thoughts Are Messy, My Emotions Are Messy, My Body Goes In And Out At Will. The Raised White Scars On My Arms And Legs Are The Only Aspect Of My Being That Comes Close To Minimalism. They Came From Chaos, But It Is Hard To Carve Frustration And Unease Into The Flesh. Only Straight Lines.

I Wish I Had Been Less Keen To Inject My Own Opinions, But I Was A Teenager And Your Teenage Self Is Generally An Idiot Compared To The Adult You. That's The Way It Should Be. If It's The Other Way Around, You Have A Problem.

A Lot Of The Time In My Recurring Dreams, Before I Was Diagnosed, Iconic People Would Either Be Good Or Evil Figures. I Remember Dreaming Really Basic Stuff Like Trying To Navigate The London Underground, But Then Paul Newman Would Be The Only One Who Would Direct Me To The Right Trains. And I'm Trying To Remember Who Would Direct Me To The Wrong Ones.

You Can Have This Kind Of Love. You Can Have It. You Just Grab It. Of Course The Problem With Having That Love Is That You Can Lose It, Too.