26 April 2014


Photos of us, that one summer when nothing mattered.
Posts we wrote, then frantically backspaced.
Status: happy.


Polite request, subtle follow, kind liking.
Official friends.
Illegality for entertainment purposes.
Fake snow falling on our heads.
Zoo animals playing, messing around.
We made enemies - but we made them together.


That night we had Japanese food, shared a bottle of pink.
The time I overheard you talking to your friends about me.
When you knocked me down on the pitch and made me scream.
Instagram claims you're loving life - honey, your face says otherwise.
I sang Florence on karaoke.
I thought we'd be friends; gave you the benefit of the doubt.
You assigned yourself a nickname, and lost my respect. 
Northern boys are my thing, sorry.  Your non-existent sparkly top, my rolling eyes.
You got drunk and giggled too much.
'He's such a gentleman!' Yes, I would know.
Your accent made me grind my teeth.
I made your friends laugh.
The early days.
My housemates liked you better than me.
You kissed me at the worst possible time.


Therapeutic. Wonderful. Deliciously free. No more pretending. Once I throw that black tasseled cap in the air, there will be more. So much more. Goodbye, clickclick delete.

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