Fuck things up!

Dear you,

Today, inexplicably I thought of you. The way my toes curled inside when you touched me, that shamefaced look mixed with guilt and desire, the constant dialogue in my mind, I remember.

I remember how night sounded in your arms – silken and full of promises. Songs that I had long forgotten, whisper in drunken melancholy.

Why did you  fuck things up? Or down. Around.

Wantonly never yours,

Winnie.

 

 

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Humor me please? *winks*

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