“I want to bury my face in your neck, in your hair.” It began like this. But then the romance dropped out of my hands and fell onto the floor in that loud clattering way love never is.
I wish you had never written to me. The same way I wish I hadn’t been so brave so as to come and see you from two thousand, six-hundred and eighty-one kilometres away. I wish we had never tried to make this real; the way that says, “It was terrible and beautiful and unforgettable and I don’t know how to be without it anymore.”
One time is all it took to be ruined. One time and one person. Like an accident.
For all our left turns, you are the right thing, the one thing that is mine. Seeing you in the flesh, touching your skin, and kissing your mouth was the bravest thing I…
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