Knocks You For Six

It's amazing how they just knock you for six. Who? The ex I had gotten over, the ex I had come to see sans rose-tinted glasses. They get in touch one day with an email that's a lovely swan song. And then an SMS, and you reply, and with a smile you see that they are burying the hatchet - or found somebody else and are clearing the air. Then you have a dream about them, about the holiday you had, and it's bitter. He sends you a text telling you he's had a bad dream about you, that it's more about what it meant than what happened, and that what it meant was that you'd gone. It knocks you for six. Later he tells you he'll let you be and disappears in a puff of smoke.

Pour toi, moi je n'etais qu'un jeu.

You don't reply even though you want to, what you want to say - scream - is: "Give me 0 or 100% - nothing in between". But you don't, you cry in the shower and hate being knocked for six when you were fine, when you were happy and enjoying being single. Now you believe you'll never know love - that that beautiful never-ending optimism that true love would one day fill your life has for the first time disappeared off your radar. And for the first time a bland stillness fills your insides, and it's a case of "yea whatever".

So what do you do. Go and drink red wine with your friend, and hopefully have a cigarette unless the fucking rules don't allow you to.