When I was in my early teens, living with my parents, and even before that I had a fantastic view from my bedroom window. There was the wasteland behind the house, then allotments, a river (fuck all, really, because we lived right next to a flood plane), then more soggy wasteland, and way off in the distance, about five or six miles away, the dim reddish glow of an Esso petrol station, at the foot of a suburb, with the lights of the houses twinkling behind it.
I used to look out of that window, when I was alone and full of teenage angst, and feel her. She's out there, I know she is. Mrs Right. The one that I'm meant to be with. I used to wonder if she was in one of the houses with the twinkling lights, in a warm, perfumed room, looking down from the hill, across the reddish glow from the petrol station, across the wasteland and river, allotments and flood planes, at the dark area where my house sat, staring across the miles at my cold sepia room, unable to see through the darkness, and wonder where I am.