|How My Heart Was Broken
||[Dec. 27th, 2004|02:32 am]
the liquid dew of youth.
As you all may have gathered, I had very strong feelings for my ex-friend Isobel for a very long time. It is not easy for me to open up my heart to others and feel so strongly for them. My love for that .. person had been developing for a while, and I constantly had to suffer as she went through boyfriend after boyfriend, always being the confidante and the one she would come crying to, but never the lover, no. Perhaps you may think this is because Isobel is not a uh, homosexual, but let me make you aware of the following facts:|
1. She has had three girlfriends, one of whom stole her mobile phone
2. I was content to have a platonic relationship, much like that between Ficini and Cavalcanti (although perhaps minor touching and caresses would have been permitted and in the natural order of things), and would have been honoured to call Isobel mi amica più perfetta - but well, as you will see, it refused this great honour.
After the creature from the depths of some primeval swamp (otherwise known as her boyfriend Stephen) broke up with her for approximately the fortieth time after a disagreement over Chicken McNuggets (yes, the creature was feeding her processed beaks, intestines and water at £3.45 a box) I took the liberty of finally professing my love to her with this letter:
The time has come for me to profess a great secret. I am sure you have already guessed it. There is nothing that can be hidden when two people have a most perfect understanding as we do. Every slightest action, every subtle motion, every small moment - all these are like words of a secret and ancient language. Love is the key to unlocking it, especially a love such as ours, which starts as a seed... a seed nestled deep within the dark places of the heart. It grows to flower like the cherry blossom, and each perfect petal is a second that has passed between the companions. They may wither, and fall, but they only become the earth once more, ever-eager to nurture such wondrous affection.
Oh, Isobel, you are like a nymph from the myths of the Ancients, a creature that has stumbled out of that world of azure and gold and somehow fallen - like the angel you are - into this terrible place filled with grey machinery, rain-darkened streets and cold iron. You are abandoned and hurt, lashed to cruel rocks and faced only with doom like Ariadne - your heart tormented, twisted, beset with fear. I have come to save you, as Dionysos saved that sad maiden. I shall place upon your beautiful head the golden crown of my love. In your pale hands, fluttering like white-winged doves in the half-light, I shall put the jewels of my being. These will be nothing when compared to the jewels that are your eyes, but they are all I have. And when we die, your crown shall set itself into the firmament, uniting our souls in Heaven as they have been united on Earth, growing brighter each night and preserving our glorious love.
Isobel, do not reject me. Do not leave me as Helios left Clytie to become a plant, a thing, grounded in sorrow. For if you do not love me, I could become no plant. I could be no living thing. Only death would await me.
If you accept the gift of my heart - and I know you must - meet me tomorrow at platform nine and three quarters at Kings' Cross station, just as the student of Hogwarts wait for their train. Meet me at 3.13pm, and we will take each other's hand and stroll into the most perfect of futures, that of our eternal and everlasting companionship, our most delicate yet unbreakable love.
I wrote this letter on beautiful paper, with golden ink. I ran to her abode in the middle of the night, in the rain, to deliver it with a beating heart. I did not go home, then. I went instead to the steps of my church, and waited the night through in the most peaceful cold, side by side with the homeless sleeping there. It was to be a memorable night, I thought, the night before my life at last became all I had ever hoped and dreamed for. I spent that night watching the stars, huddled in the corner to avoid the drunken shouts of the students and frightening tribes of men wandering past. I avoided the advances of the drug addicts. I did all this because I had to. I knew she would never know, but, if she loved me, would understand the second she looked at my tired yet happy eyes and my clothes that smelled a little gross the next afternoon.
But it was not to be. 3.13 came and went. I stood for two hours, with a beating heart, imagining wild scenarios - imagining her flattened under the heavy tires of the rushing cars on the road outside!! And then at 6pm I received a text from her:
hey i have biggest hangover eva do u want 2 go 2 kfc? had sex last nite w stephen it was gr8!! will tell u all about it l8r. got weird letter from u but it was wet so threw it out. was it another poem? call me.
We did not even go to KFC. Why? Because, she later called me to tell me that she couldn't, she had to go to 99p cocktail night at the union, and commit indecent acts with her boyfriend.
That is when I went home, slit my wrists in a tub full of ice, and was found later by my mother after the night shift at Tesco local. I spent the next four days in hospital.
After that, I could not feel. I was numb. All that I felt was vague surprise. Who thought that so much blood could flow from a heart that had stopped beating, a heart that was broken, that had collapsed in on itself, that was sick with despair, that was filled with hatred?
I hate her now. What was once love, is now hate. I hate so much that I truly could die from it. And sometimes, I hope that I do.