Que tu m'aimais encore, C'est quelqu'un qui m'a dit que tu m'aimais encore. Serais ce possible alors ?
- Carla Bruni
Last night I heard some noise outside my door, it wasn't someone knocking or screaming but a gitarr and a young boys fragile voice singing And if a ten ton shark kills the both of us, to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die. What else was I to do but let go of my anger and open my door and let him in. He put his hands on my cheeks, pulled my head so close to his that I could actualy feel his eyelashes touching mine and whispered I'm sorry love, please forgive me. The rest of the evening was spent between my white sheets with his nails piercing my skin, my hair painting white stripes on his back when I rested my head and listened to his breathing, his fingers counting my freckles, ribs, scars.Magic
Amanda took me out for breakfast this morning, saying that there is no better way to start the day than with croissants and champagne and I might just belive her. We drank and ate in silence, she was just smiling at me like a kid who had done something they weren't supposed to do but still felt pride in having done it. The thing she wasn't supposed to do was her ex boyfriend ( the underwear model, I've told you about him earlier right?) and now she felt great she said. Sex always fullfills her and makes her more calm, for me it's almost the opposite.
So she celebrated that she was back in action with the man who looks like a God and I celebrated, without telling her, that my first column ever is now published on Balladof, one of the most beautiful and smart online magazines I have ever come across. And they like me, can you imagen?
Please tell me what you think, harsh words or soft ones it may be. Nevertheless I want to know what you think.
I need a dark hotel bar, and I need Amanda. I'll face London tonight wearing a chiffongdress from Prada and anxiety painted all over my face. If you see me, please pretend that you don't know who I am.
Woke up this morning, lit a cigarette and finished the bottle of wine on my nightstand. He was still a sleep, almost dead as his breaths were quiet and his eyelids did not move like they usually do. Maybe he's stopped dreaming while sleeping next to me. Maybe he doesn't care. Maybe he wants out. Worst part is that I've become attached to him, when he wonders of and doesn't return for several hours into the night I miss him terribly and long for his presence, but when he re-returns he makes me want to pull my hair off from frustration. He doesn't like my smoking. He doesn't like my drinking and he sights when I talk about my mother. Amanda stopped by while I was in class yesterday, interrupted my teacher with a nonchalance only she posses and told everyone loud and clear that she needed to speak with me. Most chocking of all - I was aloud to leave the room. She has the most amazing impact on people and after that she grabbed my hand and took for a walk around Notting hill. No words necessary expect for one question and even that was too hard for me to respond to ;
He went home this afternoon to get some things he needed, I can't keep dressing him up in a dead mans shirts for eternity. It was getting awkward. When he left I decided to write my mother a letter, and sat down with a huge glas of wine to write. I didn't get very far, my mind was occupied by him but I tried and actualy got several sentences written down before he got home and took the paper, folded it gently into an airplane and set its course out my window.
Say goodbye to your guilt love, he told me. I guess it was the right thing to do.
His name is Charles. Isn't that the most perfect name you ever heard? And I found him on a corner where he was playing There is a light that never goes out on his gitarr, in front of him was no hat or open gitarr case. He just wanted to play he later told me. When I passed him, my heart stopped and I simply couldn't take another step. I sat down on the sidewalk, lit a cigarettes and very quietly sang along Oh to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die. After that, we went for a coffee andthen back to my place. He hasn't left since , and I don't think I ever want him to. I gave him one of Toms old shirts, it felt really macabre watching a young and very much alive boy wearing that old dead mans shirt. My mother would have had a heartattack. But on the other hand she is a very hystericall woman.
We've opened at least twelve bottles of red wine and watched Sunset Boulevard three times, but I haven't been able to take my eyes of his hands. They are the most beautiful hands I have ever seen. The freckles on his forehead makes me smile, and the way he smokes reminds me of James Dean in Young Rebell.
There is seriously something wrong with me. I think I like him and I never like boys.
I met a boy on this corner today heading home from school. He had a gitarr and very visible veins on his hands and I just knew I needed him. He has innocent eyes and a funny laughter that even makes me smile, something I don't often do. We've been drinking red wine and just finished watching Sunset Boulevard and now while he is taking a shower I just had to write this to tell you that I am happy in a wierd way. This is amazing. I'll tell you everything tomowrrow.