Tuesday, 23 November 2010

21 November

He doesn't see, he doesn't feel that he is distilling a poison which will be his and my ruin, and I, a complete idiot, drink from the cup he gives me for my oblivion. What good does it do the friendly way he often (not often...sometimes) looks at me? The compassion he sometimes has in listening to my whining?
Yesterday, as I was about to leave, he took my hand and said: "See you my dear Oscar!" 'My Dear Oscar'...it was the first time he used 'my dear' and I felt like I was gonna pass out (I know it's not much, but said from him...) I repeated it to myself like a billion times and last night, as I was about to fall asleep, I suddenly told myself: "Good night, my dear Oscar!"
And then I started laughing like an idiot.

1 comment:

  1. He'd been reading Sherlock Holmes again.

    'My dead Watson!'

    Models himself he does - well, it would be on Stephen Fry but even he, let's face it, even he lacks the eloquence.