Surpassing Love

Surpassing Love

January 1^st: A new year is a time to make new beginnings and form new habits. So I am going to try and keep a diary of my thoughts and feelings. I feel like the years are starting to blur together too much. It would be good in twenty years time to look back at this and be able to remember each day distinctly. I found a quote online that I think is appropriate:

“Last year’s words belong to last year’s language. And next year’s words await another voice.” - T.S. Eliot

January 3^rd: Missed a day. Nothing much has happened though, back to work tomorrow, and then I suppose the year will begin properly.

January 9^th: I'm really not sure what I should be writing about! Fear of the blank page, I suppose. Perhaps I should try writing exercises? I'll do them in another book or I'll waste this one.

May 30^th: So much for resolutions! But for once I know what to write. In fact I simply have to write something, because something incredible happened today, and I don't know how to talk to anyone about it. I mean, it's something unbelievable. I fell in love! And not with someone I know either, not a gradual sort of falling in love like a chair that's moulded to your shape, but a sudden, crazy, bolt from the blue sort of falling in love, with a complete stranger, just someone I saw as I was getting off the bus. He was sitting in one of those sideways seats, and I had to squeeze past him, and I kicked his shoe. And I turned to apologise and...I can't describe it. He was so perfect, so beautiful, but it wasn't just lust, I'm sure, there was something deeper, like I'd known him forever. I didn't know what to say. And then someone was pushing me off the bus. I should have pushed back, I wish I did now! Oh how I wish! But I didn't, and then the bus was pulling away, but...I swear I saw him starting to stand up, to turn around, like he'd felt it too! But then he was gone. There's half a million people in this city. Maybe he doesn't even live here? Will I see him again? It's so stupid, but the idea I won't is really upsetting me! Writing it down helps though, I think.

June 1^st: How can I miss someone I've never met? But I miss him so much. Yesterday I rode that same bus round and round all evening, till the driver made me get off, then I wandered the streets until the early hours, peering at the face of every passer by. But I didn't see him. I didn't feel the spark. The idea that I might never feel it again is...horrible.

My love, my love. Come back to me my love!

June 2^nd: I must write a description of him down, and take it with me everywhere, record my thoughts if I can so if...no, when I meet him...If I could write what I feel and he could read it...his hair is brown, sleek and well-groomed, his eyes are brown too, like agate, his skin is such a perfect shade, like...something brown. God! I am no poet, how will I ever convince him of my love!?

But if he feels one tenth for me of what I feel for him then I won't need to convince him. And surely he must feel something? Perhaps he's looking as well. On another bus, another street. If we both keep looking, surely we must find each other?

June 4^th: Oh God. I wish I'd never searched. I wish I'd searched forever but not found. I'm in the hospital; they had me sedated, they're keeping me under observation I think, but there's nothing physically wrong with me. But I do suffer. Oh how I suffer! I cannot bear to write why.

It is later in the day. I must write it. My love is

My love is

My love

My love is dead.

She's dead!

And I saw her die, every moment of it!

They're going to try and come and talk to me again this afternoon. I couldn't speak at all this morning. Perhaps writing it is not as bad as hearing my own voice say it?

I was walking along that street, I don't know the name, near St. Sebastian's, with the two jewellers...I was thinking of rings, of lockets...and she must have been too, because then all at once I saw her across the other side of the street and she saw me. Oh God, she saw me! And I knew she felt it too, the same unsayable unwriteable thing, that longing, more painful than hunger or thirst, more urgent than fire. And so...she ran towards me.

Straight into the path of a white van.

There's no way it could have stopped. I heard her bones break, I know I did...I screamed, I ran to her, tried to pull her out from where she'd rolled beneath it. Someone tried to stop me...I wasn't having it! I think I may have hit them, but I can't remember much. I was hysterical, having to see such a thing. Her skin was so pale, the blood on it...the nurse said the paramedics had to sedate me; nothing to be done for her, her neck was broken, her head...I can still see it! Perhaps I should ask for them to sedate me again? But I am not hysterical now. Just broken apart.

How will I be able to carry on? She never even knew my name, or me hers. They won't tell me it! I never knew that it was possible to feel an agony like this, and not a scratch or bruise on me...

June 5^th: I cannot eat. If I could simply stop breathing I would, but my body betrays me. They have put me on a drip. I tried the window but it doesn't open. I am a coward anyway.

June 6^th: A miracle! I am still trying to process it. They have sedated me again, and moved me. But I still have my diary. They've read it and I don't know what they thought of it, I don't want to feel more violated by knowing. They want me to write more. I shouldn't probably...but I want to for myself. And anyway it doesn't matter, because my love is still alive! And I have spoken to her, and touched her, and kissed her lips, though we have been cruelly parted again, and they refuse to let me see her. I don't know how it happened, but there she was, as fair and lovely as the first time I saw her. The way she walked as she came in, dressed in the nurse's outfit...I've never seen anything like it, so alluring, every movement so confident, so magnetic, so full of life. I started from my bed, and she saw me. She ran to me, crying out! We declared our love, for everyone to hear, and why not? Love isn't shameful. It's the most beautiful thing in the world. And she was as beautiful as love itself. Her touch has given me poetry! She wanted to take me away and have me, and I wanted her. Everything fell away as she tore the needle from my arm, ripped at my gown...I felt her nails on my skin, like nothing I've ever felt before...and then suddenly the ward was all a commotion, and the nurses were trying to drag her off. I am proud to say we fought them. But I was weak, and they pulled her away, and then some large men came and pinned me down, and now here I am. Being apart from her still hurts so much, but it is only a faint echo of my previous agony, because I know she lives! Why did she have to do something so stupid like stealing that nurse's clothes? Why were we so impatient? We should have gone somewhere quiet...but how could we? Just hearing her voice, it was so overwhelming, I wanted to hold on to her forever, to feel all of her, to get inside her...I do not care that they will read this!

You serious-faced people in your masks and yellow suits, read this, read this and dare keep us apart! Search your hearts, if you have any. There has never been anything to compare to our love! What gives you the right to deny it?

June 8^th?: They gave me back my diary yesterday, though I am cuffed to the bed I can still write. What sort of sick joke is this? I begged them all day, just let me see her for one moment, but I don't know if they could even hear me through the door. I have been trying to draw her face. I cannot draw, but I need something, anything...part of me now thinks perhaps she was a dream. How terrible! I do not think anything else could be so cruel...but I know that what I felt was real, and when I take off the bandage on my leg the passionate marks of her nails are real enough as well. I must see her! I must get out of here!

June 9^th?: No one came to see me yesterday or give me food or water. I managed to get the brakes off my bed's wheels and pull it over to the door, and I banged on it for half an hour. No one came. I tried to sleep but I can't. Not till I see her again, not till I touch her again. I must try and get the cuff off.

I did something to my thumb, but I barely even notice the pain, such is the power of my love...no, our love! I am free of the bed anyway. I have tried everything I can think of with the door, throwing myself against it, using the bed as a battering ram, but it just bounces off. I'm exhausted now but I still can't sleep.

The mirror wasn't a mirror at all. They were watching me, the bastards. But they're not there any more. I broke it and I went through. There was a little room there, with a camera, and other rooms beyond it. But there are more locked doors. Sealed, in fact. No one anywhere. God I need her! I must think about myself, I must be strong for her. There is a kettle in one of the rooms, some biscuits. I can't taste anything without her here.

June 11^th: I know the date now. All the computers are locked, but I found a radio, one of the wind-up ones. There's no music; nothing on but the news, and every frequency I can get anything on is the same. Part of me wishes I hadn't found it. There's something really bad happening outside; I need to be with her, I need to protect her!

There's anxiety in every voice. People are falling ill with a strange disease. No one seems to know how it spreads or where it comes from, or how precisely it works, but the effects are just...awful. People are suffering from some sort of hallucinations, attacking each other for no reason, tearing at each other like animals. There are worse things as well. Reports of rapes, people throwing themselves from buildings...the idea of my love being out there...God, if someone has done something to her...but perhaps she's safe. She might be in another place like this, maybe she didn't even figure out about the mirror. Some of the doors don't feel as securely locked as others. I still can't sleep. I must rest here for a bit though. I need my strength for her. The idea of her, in just a hospital gown, not eating...it's appalling.

June 12^th: I found him. Oh god I found him! I heard him calling first, weakly through one of the doors. My heart felt like it was going to burst. I called back. He heard me. He managed to get the doors open. Oh how angry I felt when I saw him! What had they done to him...he was dressed in a soldier's uniform, I didn't ask why, but it was torn everywhere, and he was bloody, injured. But still he looked so beautiful. He clutched at me and I took him in my arms. I have never felt such passion. His wounds didn't seem to slow him down at all. I can barely walk...no. I should not say anything more. Our love is so pure. I dragged him back to bed before making love to him again. He's resting now. So peaceful, it makes my heart ache. The hospital is very quiet. I will leave him to sleep for a while. I must be cautious. The people who hurt him may still be around.

June 13^th: She followed me! The games love plays! How she had the strength I don't know. Perhaps her injuries weren't as bad after all. It was such a shock to see her, but such a relief as well. There wasn't any need for words.

The things we did!

She's sleeping again now. The smell of her is still all over me. I've never felt so comfortable, so content. I wonder where all the doctors have gone? I should try and find one. I should be worried about my jaw, I'm sure, but it's a little thing really, and it's so romantic to think of my teeth still inside her.

I'm cuddled up next to her now. It would be cold without her beside me. I wound up the radio again, but the news has stopped. Just static. After all this is over, I'll take her to my favourite place, down by the coast. Just us and a tent. The rain on the canvas will sound like the static. Just us, and our love. So pure, so perfect. I feel like I might be able to sleep now that I'm beside her. My eyelids are very heavy, but I don't want to stop looking at her. It's torture enough to keep moving my eyes away from her to write. I don't think any poet that's ever lived could do justice to her beauty. I can clearly see how much deeper it goes than her skin.

They've turned off all the lights for us. They understand.

I love them.