Tall men.
Funny men.
Married men.
Toxic men.
Everything.
Everything except the man. Everything except my man.
—
I woke up breathless from his hands.
He was hugging me so tight.
"I can't breathe," I said.
"Then don't," he smiled, and hugged me even harder.
Both our breaths smelled like not-very-classy wine.
My makeup was everywhere around my face —
just not where I applied it the night before.
The room smelled like stiff sweat, cigarettes, and fast food.
Clothes. Passion. Everywhere.
In all that mess, the heaviest smell was love.
—
Dear me,
Seven years later, this is still the most vivid moment in my head. In my
heart.
The depth of selflessness my body ever felt.
The only letter I wish someone else had written.This is stupid.
It's been seven years and I keep staring at this page for half an hour,
trying to describe it.
It should be simple — it's just memory, not current love.
But I like being melancholic sometimes more than the situation actually
requires.
Purely for aesthetic reasons.
And let me stop pretending for once that this wasn't my fault.
Why does no song sing about the horror of being loved?
I thought music could explain anything.
—
London, 2019.
Fox Pictures proudly presents:
"Born With a Broken Heart."
A movie based on the true events of a woman
whose only experience of love was people leaving her —
until one day someone actually stayed.
And she fucked it up.
The main role is played by the actual stupid woman.
Warning: Not recommended for people who had it all together their entire
life.
This film contains:
– unnecessary alcohol consumption
– dramatic behaviour with no clear purpose
– and an impressive ability to blame absolutely everyone else.—
Dear me,
I broke the only thing that had successfully put me together for the first
time in my life.
It destroyed me.
I destroyed me.
I deliberately destroyed his first love and my last.
Ours.
—
Dear me,
Truth or dare?
I keep blaming people. Timing. Distance.
But it was me.
I was the wrong version of myself when I met him.
A poetry of madness.
So that's how the movie goes.
The one who couldn't sustain love
chooses a life with the only thing that could reach its volume —
toxic inheritance.
The same as her. The same as me.
So broken and undeniably unbreakable.
Undeniably toxique.
En français.
The outcome:
A door that opens only at 2:13am.
One curtain to be closed the very same night.Punishable by self-doubt and the fear of real intimacy.
—
Seven years ago... Bethnal Green, London.
His last stop. My last stay.
Eyes only.
He was looking at me like I still belonged to him.
I did.
The train doors open.
He stands up and leaves.
The last thing he saw were my eyes, still longing.
The last thing I saw was his back leaving.
—
Dear me,
do I close this door forever —
or kick the fucking thing open one last time?