Oh Pads, if only you knew what you were doing to me. If only you knew that even now you're (whisper it) dead you still cling to every fragment of my conscience. I can't escape you no matter how hard I try. It seems that every word I hear these days brings back one memory or another, you lurk in every vowel and consonant and syllable that I hear. My other senses are powerless to your insistent presence, too. I tried to give up cigarettes because every time I taste the smoke caressing my tongue I taste you too, but I couldn't do it because I craved to taste you more than I craved to feel the nicotine coursing through my veins. Whenever I brush my finger tips against fine china or gleaming marble its you that I feel, because your skin was always so delicate and smooth and cool to the touch. I can't look at the sky on a beautifully cloudy day because all I can see is your eyes, and its as if your piercing me with your electric gaze all over again.
Dora simply doesn't understand. She thinks that by running her fingers through my hair and pressing her lips against my skin she is being comforting, but she doesn't realise that I can't bear her touch because all I can think of is the way I tingled inside when your piano fingers grazed me and your lips ran like satin over my own. She's doing it all wrong.
I push her away. I hate myself for it but I do. I can't stand to endure another minute of her clumsy fingers probing my flesh as she ineptly tries to unbutton my shirt, or her sloppy kisses as her pointed tongue prises its way through my lips. She doesn't understand why I can't bear to have her caress me, and she never will because my explanation would kill her, shock her beyond belief. Every time I see her pained eyes flash a glance at me I feel a stab in my heart, because although I don't love her, not at all, I do care for her. And it frustrates me to know that if the circumstances were different I would love her, and fiercely so. She's everything I thought I needed, Pads, but then I realised that she wasn't because she isn't you.
So where does this leave me? I bet you're loving this, aren't you. I bet you're sat up on your pearly cloud with a host of glorious angels pining for your attention, but you can't look at them because you're too busy looking and laughing down at me. I bet this is what you wanted, isn't it my love? Me still safely wrapped in your possessive arms, still cocooned in your jealous wrath. You can't have me but you made sure that nobody else could either. Oh but you let me believe that I could love another, because that's what you do, Pads, you lead me on through a dark and twisted path until I reach the end and realise that I'm all alone, helpless to find my way back.
But I don't really think that of you, of course I don't. I adore you too much to believe that you are truly that selfish. I wish I could detach myself from this hopeless feeling, make some sense of my shambles of a life, pick up the pieces that you left so cunningly behind. But deep down I know that the fact is if you are dead then so am I.
And guess what? Dora is pregnant. I'm going to be a father.
I bet you're really fucking laughing now.
So there you have it. Angsty, depressing, slightly rambling... Not my usual style but oh well. I'm not too sure of the ending either but it seemed to just fall in to place. Feedback is as always appreciated.