Last time I saw you

And I still remember how you looked the last I saw you. Hair tied in pig tails, grey skull cap we bought on Northcote road; it was cheap but looked good on you. Legs as long as the table. Those ankles just the way I've always liked them. And I remember thinking to myself 'this isn't the type of girl I actually get', turns out you wasn't

How much is enough to think about someone? Once a day, twice a day, once an hour, twice every minute? And how long does it last for, when will you leave my head, as quick as I thought you left me? Hopefully

And if I'd known that was going to be the last time I saw you I would never have stormed off muttering 'fuck this shit'. I could have done one of a thousand things all those minutes and hours before. Held you by the shoulders, kissed you on the cheek, asked you about the lights you were starring into so transfixed as an obnoxious singer spoke about her brilliant self. And that was a big reason. Even that bar where you wore those pig tails seemed so up itself, so unnatural, so not me or where I wanted to be. And I thought it would just be us, but your friend was there. To agree with you later and confirm your suspicions when she asked you 'is he always like this?' You two carried on drinking the £8 shot of whiskey I bought each of you. And I used to think that was enough to keep a girl, turns out it's not

Something didn't seem right when we were alone. And I had to ask. Always have to ask. I'm sure that was the right thing to do. And it seems you've 'accepted it'. You're 'not angry' just accepted that I'm 'not in the room'. And I didn't know how to take that. Is it an insult, a compliment, advice? So I asked, do you want to be with someone else? Have to ask, always have to ask. Apparently you didn't, although I feel you did and probably are

So we carried on drinking in silence, we make a mice and men plan to go to Cornwall (or was it Devon, I wasn't in the room) before you slip off to buy fags for yourself. And I wonder if you don't have a smile or I've taken it off. I've not seen one tonight. Won't again. And I wasn't even going to drink tonight, seems now I am. Have to drink, always have to drink. You rush me so that I can finish a full drink to go to an empty venue. And my answer is to drink, more

We still hardly speak. I cant have it, have to speak, always have to speak, silence isn't real. 'Look', I start with, trying to explain myself (and a friend said to me weeks later 'ah, there he goes again, having to explain and apologise for being yourself),'I may have seemed scatty, unemotional, uninterested, not there'. But. 'I was tired, I got to be up at 5, I was sat on a weird table with a light shining on my face!' All stuff you don't need to hear. Not your doing. I get that now, those things don't mean a thing. They do to me. 'Stop being a baby' you said. 'I need you to be my boyfriend' you said. 'I'm not your boyfriend' I said. Bit harsh, I realise. I did explain myself, but I do believe you can't just pick and choose. Seems like you chose. Maybe the best thing to do wasn't go for a fag. Always got to go for a fag

And I don't know why I was bragging to you later on, minutes before our silent journey home, well, your home, about those girls I had in stitches in the smoking area telling me how much they 'loved my honesty'. I felt more at peace with them than I did with you the whole night, and maybe that's why I said, when they asked 'so who are you here with', 'ah, just a friend' rolled so easily off the tongue without even thinking about it

The gig finished, we didn't exit together, I'd gone to take a piss, and maybe I shouldn't have texted you 'in the toilet, that ok' all those hours before in the first bar when I didn't want to tell you because, who would want to say they're going to the toilet a second time in ten minutes because my shit ain't sitting right

I look for those two girls more than I looked for you, and there you were, outside, like you were waiting for an unwanted relative with a bad hip to catch up on what was supposed to be a lovely day out. I'm in good spirits. You sit back in your orange check seat on that overground train I'd ridden with you all those months before, and If I'd known this would be our last TFL journey together I would have done things differently, I would have rode the whole line and back again all night, instead of striking up a comical conversation with two scousers, father and son, after they laugh at me taking the last picture I took of you. I thought it would be comical, turns out it wasn't

The pig tails had gone, the grey skull cap pulled over your eyes, thick jacket on, those long legs crossed but those ankles showing. And if I'd known it was going to be the last time I saw those ankles I would have grabbed onto them for dear life

If you didn't speak with a clear and clean English accent maybe this wouldn't have all been such a problem. We ain't the same. Like I said on the phone all those days later 'you're a good person, I'm a good person, we just ain't good together'

So, I decide to be the happiest, loudest, fullest version of myself for these two strangers who agree with me that 'Liverpool is a fucking brilliant night out, so good!'. Thinking it would penetrate through that hat into your ears and you'd think 'wow, he's so cool and fun!' Got to be fun, always got to be fun. Like all boyfriends though, I'm good with your peoples and holding things

We walk, always walking. I'm sure we disagree about something while we pass through the So Solid estate. And I'm pissed by now, always pissed, and about five hours before I've got to wake up. We sit on your bed. Still not even touched. And if I'd known these were going to be the last few hours were I could have kissed you I would have clamped down on those lips and never let go

You're calm. Always calm. That skinny hand holds onto that skinny spliff and you offer it to me. And I said 'no'. Another thing not done together, but my drunk self wouldn't have handled that. I sleep, at an angle, us back to back instead of face to face, and I don't remember drifting off. I do remember not feeling your touch or that heat.

I wake up. And if I'd known that was going to be the last time I'd be in that bed I would have stayed in it and never got out. I make sure to keep the light off even though you tell me to turn it on, that's never happened before. And I'm ready to leave. And I can't help thinking if I'd just sat by your side and said what I was thinking. 'Last night was shit. I didn't like it. Lets do something tonight'. And I can't help thinking that if the bus had been in two minutes instead of ten and not cold outside things would have gone different. But it wasn't. And it was

I decide to make contact with you. But the only way I can think of is to combine catching some rest and being intimate. I lay down to make contact with your legs. So long. You tut and move them away. A long way, metaphorically and physically. And that's it. That's the moment I do something I've regretted before, with someone else I liked being in my life, something I never thought I'd do again and wish I hadn't

'Fuck this shit' I say as I walk out your house for the last time. Three words. And if I'd known that was gonna be the last time I left your house, I would have stayed, with you.