December 20th, 2002


A requiem for adamantine Mnemosyne.

I'd loathe to devote another desultory entry to the memory of that girl, but I wanted to write something because, even though there's nothing of any merit to mention, it's been far too long.


Sunday, 15th December. 00:08.

Lambent moonlight flickered gently over the tiny puddles that were formed by minute pits in the slightly uneven cemented ground. Far away, a train siren sounded somewhere among thickly wooded dells, and the sound of distant parties; rowdy but jolly with all the cheer of Christmas, was just reaching my ears.

It made me remember, made me think back to a time, about two weeks ago, when I was still at school. I was sitting at my desk, concentrating on the whirring hum of a computer's fan - the music and laughter streaming through the window from outside meant I didn't want to put any mp3s on. What I was thinking about and feeling; I had experienced phenomena like this many times before. My dreams had twisted away, rolling into carbon smoke from an extinguished match. I knew that out there, just beyond my reach, were people having fun and enjoying themselves - people I see every day but who I will never know.

It seemed our house was the only one not allowed a proper Christmas party this year. And, cruel world that it is, it would only have been shared with Philly's house. But still, this wasn't what made me feel so upset and such an overwhelming sensation of loneliness. It wasn't only me that was missing out on a few glasses of cheap supermarket wine and a shifting of the feet to the latest Now That's What I Call Music compilation album and hired disco lights. I felt lonely because, again, I was reminded how woefully I failed to fit in at this horrid place. How I had so few friends who I desperately clung on to with those chipped nails, and how I found it so difficult to be accepted through the strong bonds formed over the years. I want to meet new people, and vowed to really make an effort.

But I have been making effort all the time, and I still find it impossibly hard. There's no use blaming it on them, saying they have an élitist attitude and that they're all posh snobs. It's not them, it's me, and I can't change myself, so I don't know what to do. I'm not the most labile person ever, but I never even thought I'd be this bad. I didn't ever expect to reach the highest echelons of the social ladder, but believed I may get a grasp of the first rung. Even when I'm not feeling too depressed to acknowledge anyone else, I find it so hard to engage people in conversation and say the right thing in firmly established groups of friends.

And, as always, it seems to come back to one person in the end.

I was still there at the train station. Blurred by soft drizzle, playful and hoydenish shrieks ring out down the empty platform. The sound waves whooped gracefully through the air, passing through thousands of minute ethereal raindrops and the flexible perspex scarred by adolescents' etchings I'm leaning my head against. I looked back, peering through the steamy, water-smeared glass, and watched the three beaming teenagers prance along beside me.

I was smiling to myself as they trailed off, beaten by the train's acceleration. I watched those three people gradually fade away into the damp evening mist, and I was gleeful and happy. All this, even though I could no longer see their outlines as they inevitably turned back and headed toward the ramshackle exit, my momentary role played out and forgotten. No; right then for that fleeting ephemeron, I was happy deep inside because, at that very time, I truly felt that I was loved for the first time in ages.

I was smiling because I knew people still cared.

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I'm eating a fruit scone - it's a little dry.