Dear innocent,
"Hello babe" were the first ever words you uttered to me. So in memory of us; hello babe, to you too.
I remember you, Nico. Your eyes were dull and even though your skin was a cold, pale colour you brought me warmth whenever you held me.
Regardless of how persistently you convinced yourself you were the emptiest shell on the seashore.
And when you accidentally let your real name slip out of your mouth, I laughed at you.
And you cussed.
And I apologised.
But I didn't laugh at your name, Innocent. I laughed at the ridiculousness of the disguise you were wearing so proudly.
I asked you why you would rather be called something as generic as Jack, remember?
You answered with a shrug.
After we finished having sex and I was fiddling with my bra, I commented on the irony of being the corrupted boy with the a name that suggested purity.
And you answered me by correlating my commentary on the dramatic irony of your name with our year 9 an inspector calls coursework.
And when I walked home that morning, I realised how warm you actually were.
Even if you were just a football mad, small time alcoholic from a council estate.
You were one of the first that played with me, Innocent. How does that make you feel?
YOU ARE READING
bitter narratives.
Short Story"you liked the way my skin emulated the colour of soil" she was the girl with the dark brown skin, with an even darker entente with love. « a series of letters to the haunting lovers that forgot her. »
