I am no good at love My heart should be wise and free I kill the unfortunate golden goose Whoever it may be With over-articulate tenderness And too much intensity.
I am no good at love I batter it out of shape Suspicion tears at my sleepless mind And, gibbering like an ape, I lie alone in the endless dark Knowing there's no escape.
I am no good at love When my easy heart I yield Wild words come tumbling from my mouth Which should have stayed concealed; And my jealousy turns a bed of bliss Into a battlefield.
I am no good at love I betray it with little sins For I feel the misery of the end In the moment that it begins And the bitterness of the last good-bye Is the bitterness that wins.
From The Complete Verse of Noël Coward
Oh my god I love this poem. Noel Coward, man. He's all froth and brittle sophistication and then he just peels back that shell and there's this passion and uncertainty and desperation underneath. Very English.
Being single is hard sometimes.
Having feelings for people is hard.
Splitting my time between two different towns is hard.
Negotiating my natural intensity versus keeping things simple is hard.
I remind myself to breathe.
I try and think about all the things I do right rather than the couple of things I screw up.
I tell myself that even if I blow it with someone it does not necessarily mean that I will die alone with a cat chewing on my face.
And I remember that at the end of the day I am harder on myself than ANYONE else.