I COULD HAVE TOLD YOU

Losing out in love is nothing new to me; I'm always second place when it comes to men. And apparently, even with all my own litany of personal crushing defeats, I still have enough room in my heart to care that yours is broken.

I think about you learning the painful lesson I warned you about when you chose her over me. I was like an honest mechanic trying to convince you not to buy from some dodgy second hand car seller across the street where they cheat the customers with sly restoration jobs. It's only when the vehicle gives out like an old collapsed drunk outside a dive bar and you've noticed several loopholes in the insurance contract that you realise you've been lied to and left stranded on the highway. You'd think it would give me some small satisfaction to be right about this kind of stuff, well it doesn't. It just makes me feel doubly lousy cos a) I couldn't convince you to choose me over her and b) I can't convince you to come back to me even when she's broken your heart.

A friend of mine told me that I take on other people's pain for them to add to my own and, judging by the little sleep I've had lately, I would say that's true. In my head I feel like you could be simply getting on with things and having the time of your life while I've been taking your grief on my own shoulders, the kind that's kept me tossing and turning in a state of perpetual turmoil. Or maybe you're in your apartment like a caged animal feeling the pain I would imagine a man like you might feel if he'd put all his hopes and dreams of tomorrow into one, two-faced broad who doesn't give a single damn about him.

Well it's Sunday and the sun has decided to come out after a week of driving rain. I should be happy that I can go out today without an umbrella, especially as the westerly wind turned mine inside out, but I'm crying tears on the inside and can't leave my bed, depressed by the realisation that I'll never belong to you how I desired the past thirty years of our lives.

My body is getting old and saggy now, the way I used to think was impossible when I was dancing at balls and singing in clubs ten, twenty years ago. The mirror which was once my best friend now is my worst enemy, though at least it's honest. I'm telling you, you'll never get anything more honest than a mirror. It's painful to think I may never be adored again by men the way I used to be. Mind you. You're no spring chicken, Howard and although it's easier for men to use their silver tongues and silver hair to persuade women much younger than them into their craggy faced lives, you and me both know it's never gonna be long term. That's just a fact. I just wish you could honest about it instead of chasing tail like you're Don Giovanni with a pension.

Strange when I think that you're almost facing directly opposite me in your apartment block and yet you always have your blinds permanently shut. You may have noticed mine are open. I need all the natural light I can get so I don't become morbid and shut myself out completely from the outside world. Sometimes I even like to stand naked in front of my bedroom window and feel the sun on my naked, wrinkled body, it gives me the feeling that maybe I can be restored to my former glory and you'll love me but then a cloud passes by and I put my robe on.

I saw you last night standing outside your apartment building in the pouring rain. It occurred to me that maybe the thought of returning to your empty apartment presented a far worse fate than standing out in the street risking the onset of pneumonia. Sometimes I've tried to get you to look up by using telepathy but it seems you have a busy line cos I can never get through to you. Or maybe your hat is blocking the line. Still, if you'd looked up last night, you'd have seen me gazing down on you like a guardian angel and the lamp in my apartment acting like a beacon for you to find your way to my arms.

But you never looked up, just stood in that rain soaked doorway, trying to strike a match to light your cigarette and looking like you belonged in one of those B picture double features I sometimes take myself to see on my own private date with myself.

You should have come with me all those times I invited you to the pictures, with your hat and all. You would have fitted right in.

I saw the younger model, the one who broke your heart. She was in Gimbels department store having a coffee with a friend. I had my 'day drinking' sunglasses on and my hair was tied back so I don't think she recognised me which was good cos I could listen in a little bit to what they were saying.

It was nothing original, I'm afraid. Something about leaving Pennsylvania for a warmer state. She does wants her own swimming pool though and at least four children. Maybe it was the thought of having more children yourself that scared you off? Of course, you know I'll never have another child in my life after losing my first and now being too old to have anymore. I told you once I'd adopt you. As my lover, though. Not my son. You didn't laugh.

I had been staring at the cake display counter for around ten minutes when I thought I better leave before I blew my cover. I noticed her friend had got up to leave to say goodbye leaving little Miss Heartbreaker alone with her cake and coffee. At least for a tiny minute.

And that's when I saw him. The younger model she'd clearly plumped for over you. It scared me, quite honestly, because when I saw him I thought I'd been transported back thirty years.

Howard, I swear to God he looked just you did.

All that time ago. Back when I first fell in love with you.

She definitely has a type. Tragic for you she favours the younger version and not the older one.

At least now you know how I feel.