Tuesday 24 April 2012

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Even though it’s been a while, every now and then somebody asks me «How’s your girlfriend?», to which I usually reply with something along the lines of «She’s doing fine. Also, she’s not my girlfriend anymore». Cue embarassed faces.

(As an aside, what’s the matter with you people? You can’t possibly think that our breaking up months ago was a consequence of you asking that question now, can you? If anything, you’re showing that you care about the person you’re talking to, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.)

When asked about the reason behind the split, I stare back at them with hollow eyes and answer that, honestly, I don’t know what to answer.

In a way, I wish she had just told me that she had met this great, good looking, kind and caring Irish guy and that, well, you know how this kind of things work. It would have been hard to swallow, but perfectly understandable as far as logic goes.

Instead, she told me that while she still cared about me, she needed time alone: which might well be girl–talk for all of the above, as far as I know. Even after all this, though, I still believe she wouldn’t be able to lie to me. Not like that.

Delusional? Probably. Too dense to see the reason why she broke up with me, a reason so obvious it would look plain as day to anybody else? Also very likely. Still thinking about her all the time, still hoping that she will change her mind? Absolutely.

Wednesday 11 April 2012

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Walk until your feet and legs are sore. Don’t pick a destination, just wander around for a while; when you start recognizing the buildings in front of you, that’s the perfect time to turn around and start walking in the opposite direction.

This is not your town, and even though you’re going to live here for the foreseeable future, you will never stop feeling like a stranger. It’s not the city’s fault, either; it’s just that you can’t seem to shake off the feeling that you belong somewhere else. Maybe you really do.

Keep walking until you are completely lost. It might take a while to get back home, but it doesn’t really matter: it’s not like you’ll have much to do once you’re there; it’s not like there will be someone waiting for you.

Tuesday 03 April 2012

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It’s hard to believe it’s been little more than a week. I feel as if months, if not years, have passed – even though the calendar hanging on the wall clearly disagrees with me.

When you’re looking forward to something time seems to go by at a slower pace, everyone knows that; apparently the same thing happens when you suddenly find yourself with nothing to look forward to.