It felt like the end of the world, the apocalypse, the end of all things. And all I could think just then was ‘what would Brian do?’…
He would know what to do with me, he would know what to do and what not to say. He always had. He probably always would have if I hadn’t left him for that synthetic love affair that had faded and fast as the capricious roses it was constructed of. But I knew now that I didn’t want a rose. I wanted a weed- a weed whose roots went down so deep it would come back no matter how many times you ripped it up.
Did Brian’s roots go down that deep?” —
I hated myself then for not being able to voice the words in my head that were desperately seeking release; ‘I’d rather be here with you when you need me than with some trick whose name I can’t even remember.’ ‘I needed to know that you were OK because I’m so fucking scared of losing you again.’ ‘I would always leave because of you.’ ‘I…Love…You.’
But I couldn’t say that. I wouldn’t say that.” —