The Conical Chronicle

Had you waited for me? Would you ever leave without saying goodbye?

Was it fate? I couldn't help but feel we destined to be together when I saw you, resting by that lamp post, perfectly poised yet so very aloof.

I drew closer to you, hoping my tentative steps would not tempt your gaze until I was in range to caress to your delicate exterior. You would not turn towards me; would not avert your gaze from the pavement. I hug you tighter. But it does not quell your beaming sense of indifference.

I ask myself what I could have done to displease you. And the glow of your skin fades as I pull you out of the light.

You had not forgiven me for the previous week.

So I rest you back down, and step back, utterly disheartened.

No cone can love a man.

The blaze orange beneath the lamp post gently weeps unseen tears.

As I retreated back to the security of home after an evening at the George, I walked my girlfriend back to her front door (whom I will visit at work next week, despite her expostulations and claims that I shall feel unenthused at such a place), then proceeded to do the same with Vaishna after a pleasantly lengthy walk down the dual carriageway. It was mere moments after I had left Vaishna that I espied the traffic cone on the island in the road; the same traffic cone I had disturbed the previous week.

The time was roughly 1:30am at this point, and a strange desire, a yearning for adventure began to take me over. It was as though my primitive carnal instincts were rising to the surface in anticipation of a spontaneous substitute to returning home immediately.

Why must the world look on with contempt at such unorthodox love? Why must I be mocked by peers for adoring you so? They may mouth approval and gesture empty symapthies, but their eyes reveal their true emotion; their bafflement, their pity, their conceit.

They do not understand you. But I do. Perhaps not as completely as either of us would want, but more so than the pretenders, with their spurious pleasure towards our affinity. More truth would lie in their reticence.

They are too quick to discern faults and difficulties. And too slow to overlook any. They see precious little of the you that I see; a wild, untamed spirit with whom I bound across roads...

...and bask in the beautiful luminence of artificial light at the most opportune moments.

You tire quickly of stagnation and hurry off into the distance, as carefree as always. Sometimes you cover a great distance, leaving me behind to catch up on my own, and other you maunder in a hesitant manner...

...and stumble on some unfettered rock, which promptly halts your progress. I help you back up again, and in your caprice, off you go once more.

You would never imitate my tendency to perch precariously on fences and walls not intended to be leapt upon...

...or my constant vaulting across objects such as the common car...

...or my wanton need to climb great heights, which shows a palpable disregard for my own wellbeing, and it is now my turn to crumble to the ground...

...as you look on sternly, quite clearly unimpressed by all of my foolish antics. I can blame you not; I have held you up somewhat, but still you tolerate me. And I am thankful.

Unlike me, you do not take the purposeless risks, but rather the calculated risks.

And whilst I once had a problem stalling my rapidity, you reminded me that things are best taken step...
...by step...

...until we reach that beguiling destination a little later than hoped, but solidly intact; decidedly prudent.

We have almost returned when I choose to hold us up once more; this time to unnecessarily flaunt my lasciviousness (since I could simply choose to wait another 2 minutes instead). But I must show my affection sometime, no matter who is around to see.

And then we get back. You stand there, patiently on my front doorstep, expectantly waiting to be allowed in. But I cannot allow this, because in your current form, you are a lowly traffic cone, unworthy of admission into my abode as you would not appreciate my admiration, so I must leave you outside to be ravaged by the cold. But as a symbol, you are always welcome, and I indeed open the doors for your grand entry. For I love you so, as you do me.

I just wanted to remind you in print, my love, how much I cherish you, if it isn't always evident in speech.

Readers, your interpersonal relationships are not existent for scrutiny by others. They are there because they are precious to you. Don't allow yourself to be misguided by the opinions of others if you do not wish to take them seriously. Your life is important to you and you only; lead it as you will.