Look, will you at least pick up the phone? If I hear your voicemail one more time I'll shoot myself. I know we can sort this out, it's all some stupid misunderstanding, will you just
I know we've had trouble, and it looks worse than it is, I know you wanted out but we put a stop to that shit, I just want to hear your voice, I made sure you
You fucking promised me, you piece of scum, you said you'd stick by me and I got jack shit from you, I loved you with all my heart and you had to trample it into little fucking pieces you absolute
Ok. I'll back off.
I brought out the pictures for the first time last night. Stared at every single glossy Polaroid until my eyes burned, at our frozen smiles and the whisper-thin traces of bliss we'd clumsily captured with your ill-begotten camera, the myriad of locations we'd laid waste to that summer, both of us suffocating in the thrashing, festering love you'd thought to be irreversible. A month after we'd taken the last one, the screen had cracked when it fell from your pocket on to the rain-soaked pavement while you threw up copiously after yet another night of mindless drinking. I hated you so much,
How do I say this? You're perfect. You're everything that I wish I could capture and hold in my hands, cage up and cherish, cry over and beat into submission and never let go. I could live off a single one of your smiles if you'd let me,
I took my lighter to the photographs. Stood in my backyard and watched them go up in flames and acrid grey smoke, choking on the stench of our burning, fucked up memories, oblivious to her pleas- unlike you, she hates the utter destruction fire causes. If I could erase it all, I would. You know that, sweetheart,
I loved you with the sort of intense, chemical ferocity with which I could never love her. Like the countlessly generic chemistry demonstrations I'd pointlessly carry out in my classes, blocking out the animated chatter of other students until it became no more than an ill-toned drone, a buzz that irritates the ears. I'd sit back and watch as the toxic substances flared up, created the most beautiful, destructive flames in a blur of too-vivid technicolour, spitting sparks and destroying each other within seconds.
Just like our photographs. Just like you and I, my love.
My sick, sweet little fuck-up.