love letter, love letter...
I can live perfectly well without you, I did before I met you, and I know I will long after we eventually implode, as everyone with sense does eventually.
I will tell you that I love you, but the value of my words fluctuates daily. But when I woke up last night without you, I had to fight the hollow, sinking feeling that replaced you. Half of it was my body aching for your long, sweaty back pressed against mine, but the rest was the awful feeling I often get that I will replace your back with another back of a faceless, nameless drunken fuck.
I won't pen you songs of pink-eyed pigeons or jilted lovers, but I will realise at two seventeen a m on a wednesday morning that everytime, I will write you a valentine in blood.
Maybe one day you will ask me to marry you, and I will say yes through lack of anything else to say.
And then maybe one day after that we will move into that tiny apartment you know I have always wanted to live in, in that city I love to live in.
And maybe I will give you two wonderful children, a boy and a girl - each dark haired and hazel eyed. And we will love them and raise them perfectly and live beautifully until I die of lung cancer and your prostate turns against you.
Then maybe our children and their children in turn, will mourn us and hate us for fucking them up so much as all parents do.
But then again, probably not.