Today a young woman began to scream outside I heard a man answering her surprisingly calmly with pain in his voice though. “I just can't do this anymore” he said.

She had a voice that curled and strained into a snarling curse “you selfish cunt!” “You fucking selfish cunt! I never want to see you again!”

She was driving her car though, it had stopped, an emergency stop, right outside my quiet house, it forced me to the window to see what the hell was happening, and he was getting out and walking away. She didn't see the sad face he wore. He didn't see the contorted one she had. Only I did through my slatted blinds.

The sound of her pained moan as she drove away and the scream in her voice brought up shadows of my old pain. Buried memories of when I was that girl and I swallowed down bile and when I had said similar hateful words.

I've been very lonely and have been romanticising and idealising relationships and sex and the urge, the hunger for affection. I'd forgotten the way it often ends.

I'd almost forgotten the ending I had that time years and years ago. When it was real true first love. I've had glimpses of love since, but it didn't end abruptly like that time, I guarded against that: The pain the sudden ripping out, to throw the love from your chest, like a blood soaked rag at them. To show them how they hurt, how they are hurting you. No not showing myself up like that again crying in the street.

I have a quiet house in a usually quiet street nothing much happens to me, no one bothers me. The last time I loved and lost a man it was much more British. Very restrained and I held on and on as I lost my contact with him, hours and days and weeks without asking him when will we see each other. Hmmm almost three years waiting to get the courage to ask if he ever wanted a date again, to Skype again, to message again.

I still had the bile that young woman had, but it hasn't come out all at once expelling it like a sting. Mines just been a bitter taste, every day for months. A little cry on a Saturday night, no big dramatic flare up of aching pain. Just a little more sadness everyday, then I mentioned I would be taking a different way now. And there wasn't a reply for a while. Then one day his voice saying he had loved teasing me.

That hurt, to finally hear the word love, even in past tense, I think too he meant it as a compliment that I was fun to tease and I did always rise to the bait, grateful to be toyed with because it was him. because I loved him, but not the right way, I didn't make him feel the right way for more than teases.

So I used logic to climb out of the doldrums and explained to myself that it was just hormones and there's no such thing as connection when all you ever really did was kiss once. When all you did was listen to his voice everyday for months and let myself float, imagine cuddles. Imagine him, erect and smiling climbing in my bed bringing out those orgasms I had no idea could be summoned like that.

Once there was a day I was so excited to chat with him I let him into my mind and I had over ten multiple orgasms believing truly he was there in spirit right with me for hours, leading me with his chocolate lilting voice and sexy mind to the edge of the cliff. He took me there so many times to see the whole world shrink to a tiny ball of pleasure that exploded in me. My mind was blown, and I fell asleep. It can never get better than that without being real. Is it real if you never touch?

We never did meet up again. It was probably all in my mind then. One sided.

I talked with other people, chatted, shared stories to distract from missing all of that. The hormones the loneliness the chance to be someone else, who had a wild side, a wild life. Secretly a wild Rose. All the time in my quiet little house where nothing ever happens.

I looked upon his picture his emotive eyes, the way he laid like a panther, the silent film he sent. Nostalgia I think, same warm ache. And today I just wanted to have a memory of a scream at him that he's never seen my face when I was full of this love. What happens to love that isn't shared? Does it turn to something else? Does it turn to bile? Is it redeployed as sugar cravings and cake? This face reflected in my window isn't a young woman. I know don't I? I know better, and I'm not bitter. It's a sad face today though. I thought there was a bit more love in the world and now there's a bit less.

I have people who love me. I have family and a new guy, maybe he will want to see me, and climb in my bed and really show me. Share some love, I hope so. It's been years.

I can't help thinking about that young couple though splitting up, I used to be that passionate once.