There are ants in my room. They invaded in the dead of night, and now, now that they’ve got in, they’re putting out tentacles, looking to feast on my discarded apple cores. Two moths flit around the light bulb. There’s almost a zoo in here.

Outside, the dandelions have all gone to seed, leaving a downy sea before my window. Laughing, the breeze sweeps in to spirit away some of their number, then departs as suddenly as it came in a whisper of foliage. Soon there will be no trace left of that sea of gold that lay there so proudly. Thus do empires crumble.

I think I’m at the going to seed stage of my dandelion life. Just waiting for the ants to carry me away.

All those uncomfortable silences left behind by the words missing from his monosyllabic replies, and you sense he’s getting tired of the sound of your voice.

I say, I think I’m losing us, but the words are lost in a maelstrom of banal jokes and raised voices thick with liquor. I know I can’t be you, but I don’t need reminding.

Shhh.

The people there become more beautiful with every drink, while I get less attractive with every visit to the bathroom. By the time I decide to go, I bear a passing resemblance to a pudgy grasshopper. I leave the elegant people behind me and slip out into the night. Goodbye is too much effort. I’d have to look them in the eyes.
Shhh.

The computer broke. The computer broke because I dropped it. All the little men inside got thrown about and died of internal haemorrhaging. Killed by a guitar; what a way to go.

I was thinking about you this weekend. I wanted to tell you something, but I couldn’t work out what. I tried for centuries but still nothing would come. Instead she spent the day stealing away my thoughts, pouring them into glass bottles and leaving them behind. And she wasn’t even trying. I wasn’t even letting her.

I don’t want things I can have.

That tree is orange, I whispered.
That’s because it’s dying, she whispered.
Oh, I yelled. It’s probably thirsty.

The tree broke because I dropped it.

Today we went up my mountain to get closer to the sun and hopefully melt. Kristian’s last words as his face dribbled away were, “Last summer it was so hot that I actually considerated buying Speedos”

Your beautiful head turns, and suddenly your gaze is on a collision course with mine.

Look away! Too late; for an instant there our eyes connected. A little jolt of electricity, wrapped up in a parcel of shame. Hello, I think I love you. I sneak a glance back. You’re not looking. I start furtively watching you again, in the hope that that one little glance counted for something, that you’ll turn this way again. You probably think I’m a freak.

Oh, it’s your stop. Don’t go! Look at me! No backward glance.

Bye then. I did love you, you know.

Darkness. Body pressed to the damp earth, neck craned forward. No use, can’t make out anything anyway. Trees, towering, needle sentinels, unseen. Can feel the others, scattered nearby. We wait for the ambush, breathing quietly, muscles tensed yet motionless. Fingers resting lightly on smooth metal triggers. Hours trickle by.

“Guys.”
Silence.
“Guys?”

Where are they? Edge forwards. Crawling over moss now. They’re gone. Shit.

All alone with the forest pressing in. What the fuck do I do now? Might as well be blind; can’t see a thing. They could arrive at any time. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. A glimmer of red light half glimpsed through the trees.

Carpet, underneath my hands.
Oh.

Crawl across the floor, switch off the TV standby light. Stumble back into bed.

And the whole thing collapses. How can you be a stranger in a room full of Acquaintances? The particles of BO swirl and wander around the room, occasionally stopping to perish in a passing nostril. But that’s OK because the Acquaintances are factories, and they churn out new baby BOs. Can’t work out whether it’s lack of showers, lack of deodorant, or the mistaken belief that BO-basher is a shower in a can. Suspect the latter. Hmm.

Acquaintance 1’s lips shrivel up into one of those smiles. His lips obviously know something the rest of his head doesn’t. They press together in an evil little smirk while his eyes are an abyss waiting to be filled with a little confidence. I shall take over the world! Maybe. If no-one notices first. He has that awkward gait too, but it matches his drainpipe jeans and baggy knitted tops

How can I judge the Acquaintances in this way? It’s fun. No, but they’re not jars of Hellmanns waiting to have labels stuck on. Yeah, but it’s fun. No, you don’t know what’s inside. Yeah. Bastard.

Acquaintance 2 likes biscuits. And pale jumpers that crack like eggshells. He doesn’t have the smile. As with 1, he lacks confidence, but doesn’t everyone? He plays music too quietly. The occasional cymbal or snatch of lyric are just parentheses for the silence inbetween.

Maybe I am Acquaintance number 3.

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