Wellington Street

In which we take a stroll down a very strange lane.


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"The Tikoloshe"

I found the young man, sitting low below the small bulb of the street lamp. He was homeless, his clothes disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, and his hair and beard caught and twisted in knots. I had seen him a couple of times before then, though never in such a state. He was...sadder than usual. I went up to him, and asked if there was something bothering him, more than the usual I mean. I made sure that I made that clear. He looked at me, his jaw slack, and his cheeks sunken.

“What...What time is it?”

I looked down at my phone and told him it was eight at night.

Upon hearing this, he put his head in his hands and began to sob.

I stood there, upset at myself for coming over to talk to him. What had I been thinking? What did I expect was going to happen? He stopped suddenly, his cries silenced, his breathing shallow. What he said next distresses me to this very day.

Moving on...

On It's a pain

Today I woke to find an envelope through the door. Dave had posted my keys, with a note. A note that finally underlines that our relationship is over. Today he ‘un-relationshiped’ me on Facebook.

Today I wrote him an email. We still have a few things of each other. So I wrote him an email.

I told him I couldn't cope with seeing him for a few weeks. But then I hope he could come over, drop off my stuff. Pick up his.

I told him that I accepted we were over. I told him I had to move on.

I told him I would always love him more.

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