I remember day-dreaming about what staying hotels for work would be like, lounging on the floor of bedroom in its state of teen disorder. PppPPpppJazz clubs. Expense accounts. Clenches with deliciousp men. Pound my fists on boardroom tables.' I tried to channel that in my exquisite hotel room
'Do you ever wonder why we didn't..?'
'Spark? Zing? Yes, I do. Maybe it was Covid timing.'
'But we should have...I think about it sometimes.'
'I know. But we didn't. I'm me and you're you and we just didn't spark.'
He went on to tell me about how he has this potential thing with a friend and I told him about the matchmaker and how algorithmic dating just brings out all of my addictive tendencies into a maelstrom of insecure clicking anxiety. I don't need that pressure, that worry. I am certain what I desire, I just know I'm easily distracted by virtual reality and that when in that environment, I make questionable judgement calls.
When we part company, it isn't sad or final. It's just with a resigned, wry sense of 'on paper.' I walked the back to my hotel from Kings Cross, and walked around the quiet streets of Bloomsbury, thinking about life and love. Thinking about the boys I thought I could change, the people I thought I might become, the men who had such potential and how - now - its the ones who have potential I step away from.
I walk to work this morning, past the cafe I used to have coffee in sometimes on my way to UCL. I walk over Gray's Inn Road, past the first street I lived on over 18 years ago, thinking about life then and now. About who I am still in touch with and who I just can't even fathom having anything outside of 'Hope you are well,' to say.
And later, I walk back, through forgotten nooks and crannies, past the hospital where all of my babies came into the world and I think how fortunate I am to be where I am right now, in this moment, ready for the clichéd trifect of peace, love and understanding. It's a good way to call it a night, I must say.
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