I shall cease weeping after we part only when my heart dries up.

 So I have said, more or less out loud, more or less sincerely, to no fewer than six boys and girls. My greatest shame is my last interaction with a lover I didn’t love that much:

Him: “It’s not working out.”

Me: “I shall cease weeping after we part only when my heart dries up.”

Then I went and had a pie with my good friend Kate. I almost forgot to tell her we had broken up and it was indeed a struggle to frown as if troubled or suffering from stomach ache. It was October at the time and my favourite thing about October is when you’re walking through the Ponderosa and one of the trees is so orange and red it looks like it’s on fire. I want to stand still and stare at the flaming boughs but I feel that would be a Faux Pas so I do my staring on the move, swivelling my head to maximise the looking. That said, though, my least favourite thing about October is when you’re walking through the Ponderosa and you see a tree where the leaves just turn brown and drop off with almost a thump. They don’t even have the good manners to decompose quickly (which would be my priority if I were such a leaf) and you dare not kick through them in triumphant childishness because you think there is probably a dog poo lurking within. I’m usually quite tolerant but I cross the road when I see a tree like that.

 

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