2007-10-02 - 1:40 a.m.

At church, the assertion that “God loves you all” was never enough. Fell flat. What if I wanted to be loved more than others, or at least loved specifically, because otherwise it didn’t count for a whole lot?

I look for tokens, currency. A momentary affirmation to take home at the end of the evening. The nights don’t pass themselves. I spent a year relying on text messages rather than calls because the sparse characters sometimes suggested possibility.

I do-as-I-would-be-done-by, but in doing so simply infantalise myself. Schoolboy kiss-hug-neediness. Julie Burchill mentions that she told her father she loved him so regularly that he took to leaving the room whenever she walked in.

I weigh my words, ever-watchful as they emerge. Every utterance brings with it a harsh judgement – it could always have done more. I have to keep reminding myself that (and I’m sorry, but..) Wrong is not my name.

The message I’ve been trying to send over and over and over is this: please care more. It just seems a given that life should be something other than currency.