I remember us walking up Rathgar Road, back to your house and you asking me why I went out with you and I couldn’t answer truly then as I probably gave some terse, arrogant answer but now after the years have slipped through and the memories still stand tangible and almost take on a fresh sensory elegance I can attempt an answer.
You said why was somebody as handsome and intelligent as me with somebody like you? You said that when people saw us together they thought what was a guy like me doing with you? As if to devalue your own beauty, as if to deny your own awesome inner beauty.
And that’s my answer today. You were deep, you were sensitive, we made each other laugh, we could be gross with each other, we could tell each other anything, we could make fun of people (gently) and had our own coded humour that only we got. We trawled one another’s subconscious, subconsciously, we brought out surprises in one another, we opened up to one another, we made deep, searching love, we cried together, you filled me with belief in myself, you gave me confidence, you could sing, we sang together, you were vulnerable and so then I followed you like I’d never done before, you were so, so delicate and sweet and your timorousness brought out the timorousness in me that I had been hiding for so long. You understood my tempers and my stormy moods, you had patience and you had kindness, you had gentle, searching hands and soft, sensual eyes and a melodic belly laugh that I can hear now as I type.
If I wanted intellectual love I would have ran away as soon as me and this hypothetical lover undressed – if I wanted pure carnal sex, I would have slipped out the back as soon as this hypothetical Dundrum Centre princess opened her mouth and put her i-phone down. That’s my answer. That to me, is a relationship. That, to me, is why love transcends. That to me is why love teaches us more about ourselves than hate ever will. Fuck hate, fuck expectation and fuck outer beauty. Fuck your handbags and your overdraft and your annual Martha’s Vineyard wine guzzling polo party cuntbuster. Fuck expectation. Suprise the cunts. Let’s surprise ourselves for a change.