day two » 3 / 8 / 14

29 1 0

by ofsgucci

by ofsgucci

Dear My Love,

I looked out of my window this morning, and the sun was shining as bright as it could ever, yet my heart still felt frigid. No amount of blankets, nor fires in our stone furnace could warm my body. Only your body can do that.

I feel upset that you let me keep our flat. The amount of time we spent searching for a perfect place to share our lives seems unrealistic to me now. Every time I walk past the small red stain in the desolate carpet in the back corner of the guest room, I slightly smile at the thought of the memory. I still cannot fathom why you got so mad at me for spilling cranberry juice, but I wish you would get mad at me now.

I take that back, I want you to return home, but I don't want you to be distraught. I want you to come back to me, and I will grovel on that futile red stain for your affection. Like I said before, I wish you would take the flat. You were always the one paying the bills. It's true I contributed some, but not even a fourth.

My slow job at the grocery store across the street only brought us a few hundred pounds a month, and especially compared to your high income, my job is a pity.

I keep thinking about the next time we will speak, or even see each other. I'm smart enough to know you won't pay for the flat forever, so I plan on speaking to our Realtor soon. I'm thinking of moving to a one room apartment in downtown London. I think that would be good for me. Well, as of now, I have no idea what would be good for me. I am completely mused with everything.

I still haven't ate. I haven't been outside. All I do is watch reruns of American Horror Story and write in this journal I found in the bedside table on your side of the davenport. It has your name engraved on the top left corner, and I constantly find myself running my fingers over the ridges. It reminds me of when I would touch my favourite tattoo on your creamy skin. The one that reads, Might As Well.

I still remember from when I wrote that note from where the tattoo is from. I was in a Modest! meeting with you, and you wrote on a napkin from Starbucks, "Want to smoke after the gig?" and I responded with, "Might as well." I was so surprised when you came home the next day with my hand writing inked onto your skin. Maybe it was the ink that cursed our relationship, but I would like to think other wise.

All that I have been doing these past few hours is reminsing, and maybe that is just hurting myself more. All the memories have been flooding my mind, yet only one questions remains in my mind. Are you remembering us?

Love, Your Beauty.