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The Dating Game
Well, I'm walking home again. It's not so bad, there being a rather sweet moon that is walking with me. A boy is trotting along behind and he very kindly crosses the road so I don't feel threatened. But I do feel cursed. I have made so many mistakes. I deserve all this.
What dreams I had! What chalices filled with loved-up joy did I imagine for me. They seem far from these grey pavements, those orange lights. Cars swish by and each one gives me a chill. But you can get used to anything. I remember. I sort of remember.
Oh, home! I can almost feel the heating on. Perhaps I'll kill that bottle. There must be a million like me on a million nights like me. Creeps and crawlers and only the wine was making us laugh. It really isn't how I imagined. Not so far now. I can see my own breath and that's always wonderful.
Ha, yes I have to go to damn weddings, without a partner, a subject of gossip. I suppose they question my very sexuality, the bastards! Can't they understand the possibility that I haven't met the one? Do they think I'd take the same stinking compromise that they themselves have?
Well, I'm home again. I did kill the bottle. I did not change. And now, I await that miracle, the one that will surely come!
Anyhow, I'd rather be alone than with that.
Actually, it is making me smile.
Taste, darling.
I put on Bob Dylan and he sends me to the sweetest sleep.
When - and he's pretty late! - he does show up, I'll be ready. And I'll be clean (ish!). And when he finally does, I will know.
He'd better too! He'll have no choice.
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