Matthews Diary

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'


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