I spent about forty minutes sitting outside your door in Tooting today. I had to know for sure. I was so sure this was all just an elaborate ploy to get some more sewing time in. I would have spent longer if it wasn’t so damn cold but I guessed no-one was coming back, particularly not who I wanted to see. Your favourite neighbour with no more girls let me know, he has such a way with words. I wished I was gonna see you tomorrow on my birthday but I guess I won’t. I hoped you liked the pasta a couple weeks ago, it probably needed some more cheese but that was a lovely little evening and I just can’t believe it was the last time. I’m going to go get some Ethiopian food again soon like we kept saying we would, I’ll probably bawl into my Injera but you know I like liquid salt in my curry and it’ll still be amazing. Thank you for things in jars and bones and charcoal and faffing about and enormous amounts of time spent naked for artistic purposes, endless delicious meals out and your amazing creativity, even though you never seemed to think that much of it. Thank you for travel stories, fish poetry, my questionable modelling career, vintage shop hipster denial and wandering lost for hours through east London and golden paint and kisses under the trees and the things I can’t remember and the things I won’t forget. I’m sorry I never really sat down to tell you how wonderful you are, I hope you know I would’ve been your friend until we’re doddery old wrinklies. Why did you do that? You’re so silly. There was loads of fun left. I love you, though. xxx
\/\/\
And when no hope was left in sight, on that starry starry night
You took your life as lovers often do,
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you
