A Perkier Day

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I set out with the intention of writing everything I feel. I haven’t been amazing at that because the emotions I’ve been working through are really hard, really heavy, really intense.

Today I don’t feel those.

Since the Monochrome Man last spoke to me I realised how empty that conversation was, how much it lacked substance and anything of worth, and how I came to the realisation that this man was not my man.

He is not the man who smiled and turned to me to say “key change” in the sexiest way.

He is not the man who would tell me not to cry or be sad.

He is not the man who would tell me hilariously bad puns.

He is not the man who would say one syllable and have me head over heels – “tea?”

He is not the man who wanted to buy me peonies but just never got around to it.

He is not the man who picked me up when I was down and kept me smiling.

He is not the man who lied and said he bought me a Christmas present in July.

He is not the man who I cried over when I first saw him without braces.

He is not the man I watched walk across stage to be awarded with his degree.

He is not the man who could say Pseudomonas aeruginosa and make me weak.

He is not the man whose picture I wanted to take more than anything else.

He is not the man who wanted to see me succeed.

He is not the man who let me half live at his house for 5 months with no fuss.

He is not the man who would take me home because people began to socialise.

He is not the man who was so happy the first time I did go out to socialise.

He is not the man who told me he loved me, regardless of what his sober self didn’t say.

He is not the man who smelled like an old coat and moisturiser.

He is not the man who would sing so loudly the most bizarre songs I’ve never heard.

He is not the man who taught me my favourite words: telomere & antithesis.

He is not the man who asked me to have a blind taste test of elderflower cordial.

He is not the man who served me high tea, especially made for me.

He is not the man who drove me to IKEA for a cabinet to store my nail polish.

He is not the man who told me that I am “all he needs, #romance.”

He is not the man who introduced me to The Big Lebowski – my favourite movie.

He is not the man who I could listen to for hours as he seemed infinitely wise.

He is not the man who would race me to catch a Kingler in Liverpool One.

He is not the man who let me look at otters for 30 minutes because they’re my favourite.

He is not the man who would laugh at me as I cried because I think trees are beautiful.

He is not the man who found it so funny that I screamed his name as I ran from wasps.

He is not the man who showed me around a tiny village’s empty church at night.

He is not the man who would let me read epitaphs because he knew I loved history.

He is not the man who took me to an apothecary because he went there as a child.

He is not the man who spoke so openly with me just once in a park before he went home.

He is not the man who made my half-birthday the best day of my life.

He is not the man who took me to the Proms.

He is not the man who would cook for me every day because I bought the ingredients.

He is not the man who told me my eyelashes were amazing even though they’re not.

He is not the man who introduced me to the only two cats I’ve ever loved.

He is not the man who would tolerate my fear for something out of my comfort zone.

He is not the man who I showered with affection to the point where it became too much.

He is not the man who I loved.

He is gone, and for the first time in 9 months and 7 days, I finally feel okay with that.

Goodbye, my Monochrome Man.

Eloise

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