Dear Francis,
You were an Oasis during the driest season of my life.
The breeze that you were, stumbled across me while I was sitting in a bus stop on a rainy evening.
You, in your fathers BMW, wearing your vile Hugo Boss trainers and me, the girl from a working class background wearing her tattered Reebok trainers that could be mistook for Nikes at a seconds glance.
But who cares? You didn't, even if it bothered your mother.
You fucked me in the toilets of those disgustingly overpriced restaurants. And you listened to me rant on about capitalism before I accepted your gifts.
And you never tried to change me. The hypocritical girl with too many issues and an obsession with attention.
Because you knew you would dry up soon. You couldn't stay for too long. The sun wouldn't allow you to.
You had until noon and I didn't realise you were gone until I came to your house and saw people moving in.
Francis, I enjoyed your time with me.
Can I ask you a question, Francis?
Did you notice the way I always styled my hair perfectly, just for you?
Because you loved to run your fingers through my hair.
You're the one person I don't regret.
We were both diamonds that were used for different purposes; you were a jewel and I was a cutting tool.
And I'm sorry at any point if I made you bleed.
YOU ARE READING
bitter narratives.
Truyện Ngắn"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. »
