Matthews Diary

Tuesday, July 20, 2004

I live in a hiding place

If there was one part of my personality I could replace, topping the list, almost certainly, would be my sentimentality. Being quite an emotional person (deep down, at least), I try to hold on to anything and everything that has any relevance to me. When it comes to selling things, or shedding worthless old tat, I'll, in most any situation, refuse to co-operate, dig my heels, and think up a million reasons for which I should keep any such item. For instance, I recently had to get a new bed. As battered as my old one was, as messed up as the springs were in it, and as marked, stained and bitty it was, I absolutely, positively refused to change. Though I had no choice when a stealth operation took place behind my back at Uni, but, alas, such is life.

I'm not writing this to recall the tat I have collected over the years however (that could go on for many thousands of words, if I got started), but, today, I've been thinking. There were several fine girls at University. And I mean fine. One of which I gave regular hi-fives. And it pains me to think that I, Matthew Britton, will probably never see them again. Or the kind of half-mates that I made. In a way, placing a couple of hundred kids at a University for a week and forcing them into a team mentality was kind of like torture as, no matter how any of the students try, struggle or writh, the chances are that the friends and compadres they made over the week will never be seen again. I mean, I made some mates there. Geordies-Scousers 1 to 6 (there were 3 of them, so don't ask), Matthew, Liam, Kev (the evil genius) amongst others... and none of them shall I grace again.

Finishing School was a similar experience. For 5 years I toiled, struggled and attempted to make an impression with people. For the final 2 years of my stay, I tried as dearly as I could to make anyone and everyone who I encountered that day to feel special. When passing random year 7's in the hall, I'd ask them for a Hi 5, say hello, ask for a hug or atrtempt to talk. It makes it feel all so more homely, and makes me feel more at ease. As a young child coming into a school containing 16 year olds, it can be quite daunting, and I know, especially when you're in culture shock, like I was. I wanted to be the person who all the kids looked upon and remembered as a 'pretty cool guy'. And, I think I acheieved that. The facts are though, as friendly as I was with Will Pugh, and as much I was hated by robotkids 1 and 2, I shall never, most likely, see them again. And, if I do, they probably won't recognise me, and I won't recognise me as we'll have likely have changed and developed. Even though I'll never know and never find out, I want to be one of the people that springs to mind when people think of Saint Pauls Roman Catholic High School.

It's just a strange, strange feeling. Like when you remember a part of a song, but only remember that little snippet, and, as much as you try, you can't think of what it might have been called and so, therefore, that's what it stays as - a worthless meory in your mind. I don't want to be a snippet in teh scrapbook of someones mind. I don't want to be the guys that someone half remembers when they look back at school in 30 years time. I don't want to be the person who everyone forgets. I don't want to fade into the background. Maybe thats why I act like a total prat, and why I grew my hair. It most likely, subconciously, is. Before I grew my hair I was a timid little child, with no social skills whatsoever. Now, though, it's almost as if I use my hair as a mask, to allow me to do stuff and experience things that the usual, short haired Matthew could never experience. Oh, the wonders of a human mind.

'you gave me more to live for
more than you'll ever know'

Monday, July 19, 2004

comfort in words

Well, I promised myself that I'd use this space as some kind of diary, to record emotions and such, and, so, I may as well go along and record my emotions, you know, so I can look over them sometime in teh future and relate with them, and measure how much I've grown as a person, amongst other things. How I've kept this under wraps for as long as I have done is a mystery to me, and I'm shocked that I haven't whipped open notepad earlier, and written a lengthy essay about it but, as much as I try, it just doesn't flow. Now I may as well just spew everything I'm thinking, feeling into this and try to organise it into something readable.
Well, I might as well go ahead an inform you of the situation: the day I got home from Uni was the first time I checked my e-mail in a week and I had a personal mail from Dominique. Yes, that Dominique. I've thought about publishing the letter on here, seriously pondered putting it up for all to see, as some kind of public declaration. But I couldn't, and shan't. As much as a diary as this is, it's a public diary, and is open plainly for all to see, so anyone with the URL can simply come and and read my emotions. And that's another key point - they're MY emotions, that, I have chosen to make public. If Dominique wanted to make known her feelings, I'm sure she'd start her own blog up. The mail she wrote was only meant to between the two of us, and I feel it quite reveaking and dangerous to even mention it on here. Her friendship is one that I treasure and is one that I would be seriously upset if I ever lost her, in any form. She's become a pillar upon which some of me depends on, and losing such a vital companion would, most certainly, make me crumble and fall. For  those reasons, I am only going to discuss my feelings on here, rather than putting up the mail for anyone to see.

Well, if I thought that the other week was closure, how wrong I was. This information a year ago would've been something that I would've killed to hear - that would've given my summer hope, given the days a happier tint, and changed the ways I spent my time. Hell, I might have not have been sat here moaning about it all on this blog. But, if I'm honest, I'm quite glad I went through all this so called pain, in retrospect. As stupid as that statement sounds, It's often said that pain, suffering can enhance a person, and strife can make a better man, and I believe this to certainly be the case here. It was always going to happen at some point in my life - an immeasurable love being dashed, destined to crash and burn. I'm just glad that I've experienced it relatively early, and that I was at a point in my life where I could handle it sensibly, rather than other people or other times which may have forced quite different outcomes in the same circumstances. I certainly know, now, what it feels like to have any hope of being loved stolen from your body, and almost all will to live sucked from my veins, now, and, once it happens again, I'll be better equipped to handle it.

It's also nice to know that I am, actually, almost needed by someone. Never in my life have I been any kind of pillarstone or such in anybodies life. Of course, family love me, and would miss me if I was gone, but I'm not essential to anything in family life, and any happenings will, most certainly, not require any sort of input from me. I'm usually the fun man - the guy who is just there to mess around, to enjoy himself. I'm no kind of worker. I've got no responsibility, no use. In the purest sense, I'm selfish, ungiving and unworthy. But Dom told me that she needs me, that I'm the closest person to her - a true friend. That's sparked something inside of me, a feeling that I've rarely felt before. A feeling that I am, in fact, important, and that I am a good person. There's only one time that I can remember feeling like this - when, in cubs or beavers or some other organisation, a little kid told me, after I'd solved a puzzle, that he was 'really, really glad you're on my team'. That was several years ago, now, and by pure fluke, but this time, these statement by a girl I was once in a high intesity relationship with, are no fluke. Dom is just that kind of person, the kind of girl that makes you yearn to be with you. Even when you're surrounded by people, or she's busy or whatever, she still manages to make you feel that little bit more special, gives everything a rose tint. In a world full of self obsessive, throw away, fashion victim girls, she doens't fit any mould, fill any category. There's only one way in which I can describe her - Dominique.

I now, after all this writing, feel empty. After being brimming on emorion at the start of this peice, when all the file was was an empty screen staring back at me, I know feel more at ease, more ready to interact and play. Writing is the most theraputic thing I have. Thank God for this blessed blog.

Saturday, July 17, 2004

Back to reality...

It's often been said that starting a peice of writing is the worst part of it all, and shapes the way it pans out, and how far into it the writer gets - I am very much a subvscriber of that theory, and the numbers of times I have scrapped grandiose ideas after the first line is beyond count. I have, in fact, attempted to start this entry about 5 times now, and still I can't get it to go right. It's the same feeling when I'm bored - I';ve got so much to do (or say, in this case), but, for some reason, I don't want to do anything. Under any normal circumstrances, I'd simply let this blog entry slide, let the memories ebb away until I had the momentum to put my emotions down into readable form, but, the more I put it off, the angrier I get and the worse I feel which, in turn, makes me less ablke to write. It's a vicious cycle, and one in
which everybody loses, so I think I'll try and reverse that in the coming paragraphs.

It's been a marvelous few days, and, if I ever have the chance to repeat such an experience, I damn well will. The week has awoken me to what iut means to have a social life (of sorts), and what it's like to be yourself, without many shackles or restrictions. Being able to mess around in your corridor with total strangers and have such intensity of fun is amazing. On my floor were 2 close friends (alwin and Jamie, for reference) and 3 lads who we thought were Geordie (plainly due to the haircuts), but turned out to be Blink 182 loving, Dirty Sanchez re-enacting crazy boys who wanted nothoing more than a good time. Which, surprsingly, led to a few good times. And not in the sexual sense, either (as far as I know). I left death threats on their beds, tried to break into their rooms when one of their 'close friends' (who happened to be female) was having a shower, attempted to kick open locked doors and a hell of a lot of laughs.

There were a number of other people, aside from the obvious 'old friends' of Jamie, Mario and Alwin, that made my days bright, and my laughs many. Matthew and Liam were 2 such people, and having such people to talk to the vitues of Funeral for a Friend to, and to be able to fall back upon such people like I've known them for several years is quite a nice quality, considering the event only lasted 5 days in total. There are numerous others, also, that I have talked to and share memories with but, if I go into every ast detail, I'll start lying, and tripping over myself.
It's just that this trip has opened my eyes to the brilliance in people - the fact that not every teen feels the need to listen a certain genre of music, and that not everyone thinks that Burberry is the heoight of coolness. Never once did I feel vunerable, lonely or such. Even when wondering around by myself, passing gangs of youths in and around campus. For some reason, student stride in my step, it felt perfectly okay walking around like a normal person. Maybe it was the limited independance that did it for me, or maybe the 'holiday' feel that it all had, which made me feel very much like a tourist in my own city.

There was one thing that made this visit extremely special, though - the girls. Every turn of the head, every square centimetre of teh campus was brimming with brilliant looking ladies, which really raises the pros of university. In reality, though, I was never going to 'get it on' with anyone in a week. Typically, it takes me a while to get used to my surroundings, the people and the stmosphere before I can start trying to interact and form any form of friendship - for example, when I moved from my native Bradford to Manchester, it took me about 2 years to start to make friends outside of my step-brothers and step-cousins and, partially, their immediate mates. For the last 3-4 years, I've been my crazy self, and, at uni, it was much the same. Until about Wednesday, I was usually silent in presence of others, but, from then on, it was back tpo me being my usual self, making impressions, making friends and, to be basic, having all-out fun. If itr lasted for another week, I don't doubt that I'd have fufilled a personal aim of mine, and have 'got the girl'. Well, I'd have made an impression of some sort.

Well, after wittering on for a while and going into little specific, I think I might as well list a few of my favourite moments on campus, for memories sake.

'Want another Pringle?'
Me being next door to Jamie was never going to mean peace and quiet. Having bought a pack of pringles for the movies, and only devoured 1/10 of its contents, it was time to use them for good. Jamies friend Jenni had come around to talk to him, Alwin was in, and I had Pringles. Hence, a variety of ways of me knocking on Jamies door and asking him if he wanted a pringle, whilst he hoped for piece. Ranging from the straight forward forthright asking, to leaving notes, to simply placing pringles at the door, even leading to a Tic-Tac varient, it was quiet memorable, with Alwin joining the cause about halfway through. Throughy memorable, and will likely beconme and 'in joke' in coming years.

Oriental Woman
All the rooms have phones, which have their own individual extension numbers. One misdialled number, one crazy Oriental woman and tracers being put on phone calls soon lead, and, after several stabs at it, I finally got my call through to Alwin.

Death Threat
Mentioned before but still ranks up their. One of the Geordie Scousers was out, and left his door open. I realised this, snook into his room and left him a death threat. The next morning I was quizzed about it and confessed - apparently, he'd been scared about it all night, and asked several others about it in the morning, much to his bemusemant.

During the visit, the aim was to design and build a robot capable of completing the easiest of tasks. Our group was split into two, and the other side were done within the first few hours whilstr ours struggled along. They eventually won and we got third place, which was nice. But Colin, a member of the other team, with nothing to do other than waste away his time, constantly updated the rooms PC with the latest messages. Favourites include 'Kev is an Evil Genius' and 'Our robot had a late scare'. May not directly involve me, but makes me laugh nevertheless

Carling Advert-esque football
Final night, everyone is ready for the disco, the lads find a ball. I take my shoes off for nets, and all hell breaks lose. A short, waste away the time kick about turns into a 30 man brawl as students (male and female), supervisors and ambassadors all join in, much like the Carling advert being shown on TV (with that infectious song being played throughout), with random kicks, feet and heads being thrown into any situation. Quite legendary.
Well, I've written enough to settle me back in and, soon, you'll get extracts from the Jopurnal i tried to write whilst I was there.
"oh, how I cherish you my love"

Sunday, July 11, 2004

The words of a desperate man

Having being bforced to clean my room before I vacate to Uni for the week, Ive been forced to clean my room by my Mother, and, now, I'm quite glad that I did, as I found this little document, written nearly a year ago, lurking in my bookcase. Written after the 'break up', It was me at my most down and out, and it's provided some insights into my state of mind.

To Dom

I know this is probably the last thing you want to read the day you come back from your holiday, and just thinking about writing this has been giving me headaches, but I just couldn't let our reltionship end the way it did.

First, let me explain what I think about you, and how you make me feel. I could lie and say I remember the first time I saw you, or could even say that it was love at first sight, but it wasn't, and I wouldn't lie to someone I care about as much as I do you.

The truth is I've grown to care and adore everything about you over the last 3 years and especially the last 7 months. I usedto dread the weekend because I wouldn't be able to just enjoy being near you in Maths. And the only reason I started hanging out by the wall? In the hope I'd be able to talk to you every once in a hwile, such was my infactuation. The only reason I went to Spar and bought Cherryade was just incase I saw you.

I could write pages about all the elittle things I did before we started going out, but all that would do is bore you. You truly are the first person I've ever loved with all of my heart, not because I have to, but because of who you are. For the last few weeks I've not been able to get you out of my head. At work experience I couldn't work for more than 5 minutes without pasuing to dream about you.

Everything I think about you sounds like a massive cliché and feels like it's been copied from any love movie.

And that's where it stopped. I think i tried writing about 5 seperate letters during the 2 weeks she was away, all of which were poor, and none of which I deemed worthy. Having a bucketful of emotions that you need to unloadm release from your body, like the puss in a spot, then getting writers block isn't the nicest thing to happen. I like it to realising you're constipated after having an 8 course meal at an Indian.

A few weeks and a couple more tries after this, I did, finally, write her a letter which I deemed worthy, and took it down to her house, leaving it under a stone by her gate. The only feedback I got was that it got her in 'loads of trouble' and that she 'didn't, in fact, fancy Nathan'. The latter of which I've found out to be false on numerous occassions since.

Oh dear. Onto Uni week with high hopes, eh?

'thinking of your love'

Don't say goodbye

So, tomorrow I have to say goodbye to my laptop which has accompanied me through the last couple of weeks, pack up and leave the sanctity that is my bedroom and step out into the bog, wide world... well, fore 5 days, anyway. And, if I'm honest, I'm quite looking forward to meeting a couple of new mates, talking with 'old' mates and, generally, having a laugh. All to the backdrop of a free week at university, and free nights out. It could be the school trip that I always dreamed of, but never happened. With mother, step-brothers and other restrictions out fo the way, I might actually be able to have some fun, rather than having to hold back. Maybe I'll tell someone how I feel about them, or, maybe, I'll be a changed man. I hope, I pray.

Well, as you may have read, I probably won't be able to update this dear old blog for at least 5 days whilst I'm away, so you might as well forget about coming here after about Wednesday, then, Friday night/ Saturday morning, I'll be kciking back into action and, seeing as I'm taking a couple of notepads with me, you'll be able to read the 'Uni Journals'. I'll probably spend all night writing it, wake up in the morning and realise that all of it is poorly punctuated, illegible mess, which is unusable in any form. That's the problem with being a genius - your handwriting suffers.

So, I've got everything I need. Credit on my phone, MP3 player stocked up on tunes to get me through the week, Harry Potter and The Order of the Pheonix, notepads, clothes and all. And this is just for 5 days away from home. If I didn't have an organised Mother, I'd only be taking a toothbrush and a couple of chewits. The joys of being hand weened through every last situation are underrated.

If we have internet connection, you can probably expect a nightly update from me, recapping the day and have me pouring out my emotions, as usual. If not, then there will be a stony silence amongst this place.

And, just before I go to empty my drawers, I'll leave a list of aims to fufil during my time, and I'll assess whether I've reached them when I get back...

- Get over it
You know what I mean
-Make new mates
Clichéd as hell, but, dammit, I want to converse with different people
-Sucessfully make a daily diary
I'm poor at recalling events, so this could be a perfect oppurtunity to try and make my story telling more vibrant
-Ask Mario just what the hell he's doing with Danielle
She's a bitch, he admits it, asks her back out. Twice.
-Make Jamie less camp
He's the most feminine bloke I know. And he's one of my best mates. Something's up.
-Read Most of 'The Order of the Pheonix'
I wanty to read Great expectations and Animal Fam when I get back, you see

Goodbye, my Blog, see you soon (I hope)

'What became of the dreams we had?'

Saturday, July 10, 2004

blood from broken hearts write the words to every song

I was a troubled teen
Who put an advert in a magazine
To the annoyance of my imaginary lover
She doubted my integrity
And this is what she said to me

She said oh, you, you're green
You don't know what love means
Oh let me tell you
It tickles you pink, oh yeah
But it likes to hear you scream
Fire and damnation, lamentations
For the likes of you

Read as a poem, it sounds like a 2nd rate attempt at informing people of somebodies feelings. I mean, if I came at these from afresh, they'd have little or no relevance to anything imparticular. However, if it's sung, with an acoustic guitar being strummed in the background, it suddenly becomes ever so meaningful and informative. At this moment in time, if I could choose just one song to listen to for the rest of eternity, it would be a close competition between 'I love you (but you're green)' by Baby Shambles, of which the lyrics above are stolen from, and 'Last Goodbye' by Jeff Buckley.

It constantly amazes me how musicians seem to get it so spot on with their songs, and how, no matter what my emotion, no matter what my feelings, The Smiths, The Cure, The Libertines have always got an answer or remark to put everything into context and make everything seem okay.

It's scary how much I'm depending on music, nowadays - back in the old days, it used to be games which I went to when I had energy to burn or feelings that needed to be heard. It's a very abstract way of doing it, though, as, no matter how much time you plough into Super Mario World, people are only going to think that you're either strange or have too much time on your hands. And I know. As a child, all I had on my street was a child in a wheelchair, and child with a mental disability. School friends lived too far away, and Mum was often at work, to try and get ius or own little place. it left me quite alone, at times, though, if I could go back, I wouldn't have it any other way. Struggle makes a person stronger, and being 'alone' for large portions of my time had really made me appreciate friendship.

The growth into music, however, has been a fairly gradual. It's been representative of my changing as a person. When I first moved to Manchester, I was listening to B*witchd and other similar pop groups. As I settled in, it quickly changed to nu-metal (after a breif period listening to Eminem), which could be seen as me wanting to shed my old self and start anew, and, considering the pace at which I quickly decided that Limp Bizkit, above all else, were genius, was alarming. In a short period of time, I decided to grow my hair, to start listening to rap-metal and my aim, in the long run, was most likely to become a 'mosher'. Thankfully, before I bought my first hoodie, I saw sense, and from then until about 9 months ago, I was in a place where music wasn't particularly important -sure, I'd shove on a bit of Nirvana every now and then, and play air guitar to Maiden, but, in essence, it wasn't necessary.

Now though, I can't usually go a day without turning on my favourite MP3s. Every word of every song is important. The underlying meanings have suddenly sprung to life, and speak to me in a language I've never heard before. Evey time I listen to a song, it changes, morphs, and how I percieve it changes. I'll use 'Last Goodbye' by Jeff Buckley as an example - for weeks I'd just thought it was a song about him going away, and them having to split up. After the escapades at the leavers party, and all the emotions from there, it's suddenly a song about a messy break up, and how, in the back of his mind, Jeff still wants, loves and cares aboutthe girls he's singing about.

My listening changes to suit moods, as well, as does most normal peoples - after the do, I listened to 'Last Goodbye' 21 times back to back. Like a time capsule, Jeff wrote this song for me, burnt it onto a disk, and sent it into the future, ready for my every need. It's almost the exact thing I'd write to Dominique if I had the chance. The lyrics 'Just hear this, Then I'll go: You gave me more to live for, more than you'll ever know' almost bring me to tears in the right circumstances.

Jeff, if you're up there, reading, just know that you've guided a young, hopeless boy and helped him through the last few months, in your words, 'more than you'll ever know'.

"If i have to go, I will be thinking of your love"

Friday, July 09, 2004

1 week, 1 new man

I know that it seems greedy, doing 3 posts on my first day but, for heavens sake, this is my diary, I have no audience to please, to crowd to make happy, just me, myself and my emotions to think about, So I think it's time for a bit more self indulgence, and time to ramble my heart away once again.

Next week, Monday to Friday, I shall be spedning my days at the University of Manchester, on some kind of taster course thing. It'll be filled with the usual proganda about pay, jobs and teh advantages of going to higher education but hey, I can stand all of that, as it's a free week away from home, with mates, to make and build a robot, apparently. After the drama that was the Leavers Do (might go into that in a bit more detail tomorrow - today I still can't believe that it actually even happened), this could be just the thing I need to take my mind away from certain lost loves, and focus it into a newer, cleaner energy, rather than the bitter lust that has intoxicated my mind and burns my tastebuds. I just pray that it might signal the end to my 'hectic schedule' (3 things to do in a fortnight is a lot for me, you must see), meanoing I can draw a line and start a fresh, ready for the 6 weeks building up to college, and start the nervousness for my results (don't even mention it).

All in all, it should be fun - messing around all day with random strangers, doing 'activities' at night (we're going to the cinema one night, apparently), and, possibly, the chance of a lovely lady to ease the pain. The idea is rediculous - a rebound girl a year after going out with someone. Oh, to be a troubled teen. AT least I'll be able to laugh it all off with camp she-male type Jamie, Mario and Alwin, and, hopefully, have some meaningful conversation with the 3 of them, rather than the sexual innuendo filled insult fest that we usually partake in. Maybe I'll really get the find out what Mario feels about Danielle, or as such. Maybe I'll e able to express myself to something other than a blank screen on a laptop, or strangers on the internet. It's a crazy thought, and one that might change me from the emotionally shelled (as my good friend Mr. Broni would say), self absorbed teen that I am into a better, stronger, less awkward person, and could help me win her back, though I did promise myself that, in this entry at least, she would NOT be mentioned.

Mother seems sure that it's actually her going on the little vacation rather than me, as she quizzes me daily about what I'm going to do, what I'm going to wear, and the availibility of my underpants (???). She's even been out and got me about 4 pairs of jeans and toilettres ready for the ocassion. This si the same woman who refused to let me wear a shirt with a 1cm tear on the lower back of my shirt because it looked too cheap. Sometimes I do worry about her, you know.

So, when this blog is left empty in the next week or so, just remember why - Im out there trying to mould myself into a new person, and find myself a new identity. Please, say a little prayer.

Closure opens another 1,000 doors

A year. A whole long, laborous year without her. A year of poking, guessing, analysing, debating, probing and thinking just about why it was over, why it ended and why she doesn't love me anymore. It's been a struggle. People say that your first love is the hardest to get over and that time is healer. Well, for me, time has been a healer just as much as water is a washing up liquid - sure, it washes away the intial waste from your plate, but, no matter how much you scrub, wipe or dry it, it'll never be truly clean. Now, nearly 12 months to the day since we last touched, kissed, talked on the phone, I finally get some kind of closure. The kind of thing that, 12 months ago, may have stopped the hirting ended the pain and lessen the scars.Of course, I might have been found dead by a river with a bottle of Prussic acid in my hands if she's have told me back then as well, but still, I'll try and be the optimist.

I know what your thinking. '12 months? What as sad little boy'. And you're right. I'm sad, I'm lonely, and, in the words of The Stills, I'm still in love. Everytime I think I'm through, over she does or says something that reminds me what I saw in her back then, and just why I want her to be mine. The way she says 'Matt', imparticular, is something that makes me tingle in a way that no other seems to do. Such perfection, such innocence. So far away.

And I was right. I was absolutely, 100% right about why it's over. She may not be the most reliable source in the world, dear Danielle, but she simply can't have been making the reason up. After writing stories such as 'Havisham', my suspicions have been very much confirmed. To quote my prized peice of writing:

"Maybe that was my problem. Maybe there is such a thing as giving somebody too much love? Too many romantic gestures, too many love letters from the heart. Much too much."

The reason that we ended, and the reason that I'm sat, 12 months after we finished, typing about her on my laptop? She felt she was trapped by my love. Trapped. Trapped! So listening to her stories on the phone, hanging about with her in school, going around to her house is closing someone in now, is it? Being on demand, in love is now a faux pas when it comes to relationships?

I can, however, see her point, which is why I suspected it all along. Maybe I was too pressurising, too jealous, too uptight? I phoned her most everybnight, talked to her just about everyday and thought about her every moment. I remember going home one night, distraught, because she seemed to be pleased that another person 'fancied' her. I mean, if your girlfriends got a big smile on her faces, and is ignoring you for news about him on the phone, you have a little bit of a right to be somewhat worried, don't you?

But, like every answer, it leads to 1,000 other questions, all of them more cutting and worrying than the last. For instance, if she thought I was making her feel claustrophobic, then why on earth did she, a week before she broke it off, tell me that she was in love with me as we hugged on her sofa? Why did she keep my around, keep asking me around until the final few days? Why was she very mystical when it came down to the break up? I think I've got enough to last me another year, at least. Another year of hoping, praying, believing that I have a chance with her.
'it likes to hear you scream fire and damnation, lamentation'

I know it's over, still I stay

Never, in all my life have I felt such raw, bittersweet emotion. As you may well know, tonight was the night when I could finally wave goodbye to my school-life, cast aside my old self, and step straight into my new life at college. The leavers do. The last hurrah. A time to reminise the good old days and say goodbye to a few mates. It was an awesomely spectacular night, in nearly all respects, as I expected it to be, and demanded it to be.

For the most part, it was one of the best nights I've ever experienced. Despite a sub-standard meal to start the evening off, I won best hair-do (as expected, to be frank), got nominated for funniest and then came the discotheque. Poor songs, great mates, poor but fun dancing. It all amounted to a spectacular night messing about with mates, having a laugh and girl watching.

But there's a downside. There's always a downside. You've probably guessed it from the get go, any of you who've followed my writing and read a few of my posts in the WLT. Dominique. The girl who I've been in love with for about 18 months. It was about this time last year that we split up and I thought maybe, just maybe, that it might be the time for a reconciliation. She'd been extremely close on MSN of late, saying I was 'probably the person closest to her in the world, right now', and generally flirtacious behaviour. I got my first inkling of the possibility during the nominations for the best hair, with her screaming for me to 'get up, Matt'. When the disco started, she even told me to start dancing with her group, which was nice, and when we started to talk again (about my dancing, her shoes and my brilliant singing voice), I was evermore convinced it could be back on. It all started to fit together. I started to dream about me and her dancing together for the last dance of the night, a la many, many teen movies, and getting back together and living happily ever after, so to speak. I nevrously stayed in close proximity to her, in the hope she'd ask for a dnace, or I'd get close enough to slip a word about how beatiful she looked in her ear. It just seemed so perfect, and like it really could happen.

From then, with about 45 minutes left until the 'last dance', it all started to go downhill. With her camera out, she just about flat out refused to take a picture of me and her together, which wasn't very encouraging, to be honest. I shrugged it off, though, as there was still a fair bit of time left until we had to part ways. I danced, sweated buckets, and kept a close eye on Dom, just to make sure I was always in with a chance.

The last slow dance came around far too quickly. I try to rush over to her, but I see her, in her stunning dress, hair placed to perfection, dancing with Nathan. I have nothing against the boy, he's one of the funniest, original and well witted guys in school, as well as being a musician and relatively good looking. My heart sank. In one second, one moment, all that I ever believed to be set in stone, anything I ever hoped to happen between me and her just ended. In retrospect, I felt like Pip must've felt from Great Expectations when he found out that he and Estella were never supposed to be, and that Miss Havisham only ever wanted to get revenge for being jilted. The only problem is that Dom was playing the parts of both Estella and Miss Havisham, with her leading me on with months of MSN conversation, only to break all hope of a comeback broken in a moment.

I'd heard rumours about it months ago - her having a fancy for Nathan, but I only thought it to be a playground rumour, and that any flame she might have for him was estinguished by our memorable and close conversations over the internet. She might be, and probably is innocent in this case, but that is little consilation for me, at this moment. I don't know how to describe it. Well, I'll put it simply - I never have another chance to show or prove to the girl that I've been deeply in love with just how much I love her, and how much I care for her, and how much I long for her to lay in my arms. It's difficult to even type about it, at the moment. She's going to an entirely different college to me, which is little help when it comes to future chances, and, even though she lives 20 minutes away, and I speak to her on MSN every time she logs on, pops in or comes online, I know that it's a 'look but don't touch' thing, and that I've got slim to no chance of ever capturing my sweet little butterfly ever again. She's gone, free, broken from my bounds, and has been for a year, which is the way it'll stay for the rest of eternity. It just looks like I'll never be able to touch my precious Dom.

And, once again, it looks like nice guys finish last. After listening to her problems, absorbing her anecdotes and entertaining her stories for many months, and offering the kind of compassion that it seemed, from our conversations, that no-one else was able to offer her. All whilst Nathan has been out on the town, in bars, playing his music and courting other girls. Why can't love be simple? Why can't girls justr love someone for who they are, rather than their image, what they do, or how available they are? I couldn't care less if Dom was crippled for eternity, or refused to have sex before marriage. I'd take her back, any day, any time, just because of the beatiful person inside that she is (as well as being extremely attractive). But not everyone sees it as black and white as that. Maybe that's the problem. When I was 'dating' her, I rung her everynight, thought about her all day, dreamed about her at night and, generally, tried to spend as much time as I could with the one that I loved. Sex never crossed my mind. All I could think about was her, and the beautiful future that we had together. I made the number one mistake of being too available. I don't subscribe to 'treat them mean...'. I want the girl I love to be able to have me whenever she wants as love, in my opinion, overrides all.

Great expectations still gives me hope, though. As cruel as it sounds, and as cynical as it may be, I hope that Dom gets her man. And I hope her man plays her about, breaks her heart, and makes her think about those that show her compassion, love and a feeling to be wanted. I hope that, in the end, it all work out, and that me and her are back together. Until that moment, that day, I'll stay what I am. A broken man.