Tuesday, September 13


Certain voices make your heart smile. His was one of those. The thing about past is that you want to fuck it off, but it's so integral for what you've become. The thing about past is also that it makes you want to treasure some of it forever in your beauty box, but it it is no longer valid.

I felt weirdly drawn towards saving his little text messages, reading it in my head to the sound of his voice. His voice was caramel sauce topped on whipped cream and my mind inevitably demanded his name on my phone every weekend. 

He always called when it was half past two; when he fell right into my routine or maybe I did. Every time I read his name, I knew what was coming and I gracefully engrossed myself in it, like embracing my own soul.  His body shattered me like a ticking time bomb. In the silence before the storm, we sat there in the quiet dark, waiting for the bomb to hatch a terrible thunder. You know how some lovers are like chains, pulling us back into dimly lit places.