lightthisfuse
she'd only be walking for about five minutes until she stumbled across the railway tracks. literally stumbled - they were covered in grass and wildflowers and she'd missed the slightly rusted metal until she felt herself falling
stark white walls and a small window at the end. white ceiling, white floor. white everywhere. this was the new version, the updated version, the version that would show everyone just how modern they were. she didn't like it.
It's the joys of modern-day romance she told herself, a smile blooming on her face as she saw his name pop up at the top of the screen.
She was wild and she was fierce and she was American. She wanted to be in America. So we wrote love songs to each other on opposing sides of the Atlantic in the hope that they could somehow take us with them.
Lips and tongues and teeth and sweat and hands dragging through silken hair and the buzz and the thrill of me and you.
The space between them had been divided up and sectioned, square upon square of metred tarmac and red and white tape.
She wouldn't let herself wallow in her room. This wasn't her fault, she had done nothing to deserve feeling like this. It was time she actually started believing that for once.
High above the rooftops she soared, circling and circling until she was dizzy with joy. She dove and swooped and danced, and then floated along, happy to have finally found her flight.
She was happy for the first time when the bells tolled. Year upon year of disappointments and waiting by the phone and fake smiles were washed away by this new beginning. Maybe this was mercy. Maybe she had just had to claim it for herself all along.
He wasn't meant to stay. He was meant to come to the flat to see the new sofas that was it. He wasn't meant to sit there for hours as I made him first a coffee, and then offered him a beer and then another one and another one, and we most definitely weren't meant to wake up in the living room together the morning after his visit.
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