When I was 17 I fell in love.
We met the night my boyfriend drunkenly decided to fuck you - I was completely wasted and half naked as I tended to be, slumped on a beanbag chair (oddly currently located in the living room of my Edinburgh flat) when the mister just leaned over and in a slurred show of bravado inquired "So, do you want me to suck his cock?"
OK, so it wasn't the most conventional beginning to a life long romance but we were peculiar that way.
Afterwards you lay on my bedroom floor and held my hand all night, I didn't sleep.
Three years later and I've probably spent less time alone with you than most of the people I claim to fervently hate - for a while we spoke every day, hooked up when we could and didn't really venture further than my bedroom.
It wasn't all about the sex, though that was a definite perk, we'd drink, smoke, chat shit for hours...lay down plans for our future, name our hypothetical children, wax philosophical or bitch about our respective shitty situations.
"One day, one day soon we'll get it sussed. Up and leave. Be together like a real couple."
You were my entire life and like the child I was every time you got on that fucking train to go home I'd wave, heart in my throat, knowing when you eventually returned...a few weeks, a few months down the line it would be as though you'd never gone at all.
The summer before university: You're living in the city with the girl you've been involved with for the whole time I've known you; a flat, a routine, a life.
I'm in Stockport with my best friend...we've been drinking again.
18 years old, convinced I'm a woman, I take it into my mind that right now is the perfect time to give you that pivotal phone call: "Please, please just leave her. I won't go to university. I love you."
Placated with promises, I waited it out until you could get away to see me in person.
For two days, we had our paradise and we razed it to the ground...danced in its remains like true heathens.
Then you had to leave - going to see her family, finish it properly, burn the bridges so you couldn't go back...prove yourself a man.
"Sweetie, this won't be the last time I see you. It wont."
I kissed you at the gate to Platform 10, turned my back and left.
You never were an accomplished liar, were you.
I'm 20 now; I have a flat, a routine, a life.
It's not the one you promised me - in truth it's a little broken, manic, dysfunctional but it's mine in a way that you never were.
Never will be.
Annie.
<3
We met the night my boyfriend drunkenly decided to fuck you - I was completely wasted and half naked as I tended to be, slumped on a beanbag chair (oddly currently located in the living room of my Edinburgh flat) when the mister just leaned over and in a slurred show of bravado inquired "So, do you want me to suck his cock?"
OK, so it wasn't the most conventional beginning to a life long romance but we were peculiar that way.
Afterwards you lay on my bedroom floor and held my hand all night, I didn't sleep.
Three years later and I've probably spent less time alone with you than most of the people I claim to fervently hate - for a while we spoke every day, hooked up when we could and didn't really venture further than my bedroom.
It wasn't all about the sex, though that was a definite perk, we'd drink, smoke, chat shit for hours...lay down plans for our future, name our hypothetical children, wax philosophical or bitch about our respective shitty situations.
"One day, one day soon we'll get it sussed. Up and leave. Be together like a real couple."
You were my entire life and like the child I was every time you got on that fucking train to go home I'd wave, heart in my throat, knowing when you eventually returned...a few weeks, a few months down the line it would be as though you'd never gone at all.
The summer before university: You're living in the city with the girl you've been involved with for the whole time I've known you; a flat, a routine, a life.
I'm in Stockport with my best friend...we've been drinking again.
18 years old, convinced I'm a woman, I take it into my mind that right now is the perfect time to give you that pivotal phone call: "Please, please just leave her. I won't go to university. I love you."
Placated with promises, I waited it out until you could get away to see me in person.
For two days, we had our paradise and we razed it to the ground...danced in its remains like true heathens.
Then you had to leave - going to see her family, finish it properly, burn the bridges so you couldn't go back...prove yourself a man.
"Sweetie, this won't be the last time I see you. It wont."
I kissed you at the gate to Platform 10, turned my back and left.
You never were an accomplished liar, were you.
I'm 20 now; I have a flat, a routine, a life.
It's not the one you promised me - in truth it's a little broken, manic, dysfunctional but it's mine in a way that you never were.
Never will be.
Annie.
<3
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