Fiona,
I'm sorry I called you Flora by mistakes sometimes.
I'm sorry I laughed when that boy made that horrid, racist joke.
I'm sorry my heart was a flat line when I was around you.
You never made it beat faster like the others did.
It wasn't your fault I was addicted to thrill.
I know it was the opposite for you.
I loved hearing your heart beat whenever you hugged me.
I loved the fact that you were more fragile than I was. That you stood at 5 foot 2 and your hair was at an awkward ear length and your teeth were slightly yellow.
I'm sorry that I offended you by asking if you could speak Chinese, even after knowing that you were Korean and adopted.
I'm sorry I made you feel good whenever I held you. The truth is, you never fit right in my hands.
Maybe it was because I was too used to moulding myself around my lovers rather than them moulding themselves around me.
Maybe it was my body that was the problem.
Or maybe if we spoke while we drunk or during sex it would have been better.
But we never did fuck, did we?
And you were too much of a prude to get drunk with me.
And Fiona, I'd never been with a person long enough for us both to have sober conversations.
And it was the opposite for you. Wasn't it?
YOU ARE READING
bitter narratives.
Historia Corta"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. »
