supernova

‘Fuck me like you hate me.’

He did.

If you lived long enough, perhaps you’d have learned to kiss sweet as candyfloss, and kept a sensible distance between thoughts and feelings. Not just jump off the deep end, when you can’t swim. You were a lippy kleptomaniac stealing my mind, a loss rather than a gain and a form of mutually assured incomprehension. Fear, an early manifestation of frailty and vulnerability, cut along these lines, a collar and cuffs in indian-ink that coloured your world. A drowning man leaves no trace.

‘I’m never leaving you.’

She never did.