By Aimée Keeble
This is a confessional- blue and yellow, cheap and uncheerful. I’ve worn myself dull.
This is an acknowledgement of things ruined:
Hi! I wrote a few thoughts down on things that didn’t matter- bits of receipt paper (I found the one from CVS when you bought me a Plan B pill! Congrats on the new baby btw!), the back of my hand; I wrote a note and fit it between two exposed bricks on the market side of the cafe I work in. It said ‘I love you’ and I was writing for the defunct and the finished. And perhaps for a Serendipity (which is pink and has flippers and giant cow lashes, remember??)
Nah, you were too young to remember that book, eight years too young I reckon. That’s probably the reason we aren’t together- you are culturally premature and won’t remember the music video to Bullet with Butterfly Wings. You’re such a boring cunt.