Wednesday, March 2
Last night, third one in the same bar but still no luck. They say good things come in threes, I think maybe three is crused. Its not a couple, nor a group. There's no fucking balance in three. But I waited, with the book opened in front of me as a shield. Not in the mood to carry on a conversation with the bartender yet again. He mumbles something welcoming, poured a dry martini and smiled carelessly. I wish I could do that. I never smile anymore.
Five drinks later, the bar which Im alone in is closing and I feel more alone than I have ever done before. Not just alone, I feel betrayed/used/abused. What a horrible man he must be, building up something so beautiful and then leave it without a roof. I feel like the foundation of an amazing house, waiting to be complete. And it doesn't rain in London, it pours. Im all wet and he's not here.