Dear my sweet lover,    

On Monday, you love me with the irreconcilable force of a gale wind, I was enveloped in your natural disaster of a soul, you made me quake in the morning and drown at night, but I loved it all. It was so clear to everyone that our relationship was an avalanche awaiting in the horizon, well nearly everyone. I call my Mother today, we don’t really talk much, the conversation is a bittersweet mixture of silence and one syllable words, you hold my hand as it shakes the whole time. I think I love you more now. 

Tuesday’s a different story, your tired eyes scrutinise my body, my heart and my soul as if I am a product you are on the borderline of purchasing, how could I convince you? My hair doesn’t take to Sunsilk’s luxurious touch, my skin lacking moisture on my boney knees and elbows, untamed brows and bitten nails, what an unpleasing product, right? If I was you I would’ve moved to a different aisle but you didn’t… why didn’t you?  

On Wednesday you devour my body, bruising me with your love, marking a forever into my skin, as if you’d forget of your love without the physical reminder. I felt branded, each bite a searing burn when I felt other eyes linger on them, but I kind of liked it, I guess that makes us both pretty screwed up doesn’t it. I used to flinch on these days but I’ve found you don’t like that, you don’t like much on this day, I often wonder why.   

Thursday’s a storm. Tears litter our apartment like rain, the bite of New York’s winter air is nothing in comparison to the harshness of your words as they crack and boom like thunder and lightning. In this moment, I remove myself by thinking of pleasant things like how you’ve always called me angel yet on this day I find myself willingly dancing with the devil, he can waltz like no other, he doesn’t flinch when I clumsily step on his toes like he used to. I am brought back as you sweep your way around me like a hurricane leaving me curled in the corner, quaking like Monday.   

Friday as the dawn breaks, you unravel my locked joints from around myself, cooing catchy apologetic symphonies into my ear, your touch soft as you stroke my hair as if I was a child, convincing me to leak sweet forgiveness, soaking us quickly. You told me stories of wild oceans, storms and the lighthouse that saved them all but I was never fully certain whether you were the lighthouse or the storm. I sit on the bathroom sink, tweezers in hand and pulling pieces of destruction from your hands attentively, I look at you though my lashes every now and then catching your cold eyes watching me, we make eye contact and the ghost of a smile graces your face thus lighting the fire in my heart once again.   

On Saturday, we lay peacefully in bed, the rays of the early AM illuminating my skin, my mouth curves in a tired lopsided act of contentment as I watched the darkness of your soul dimming your own form, but I coiled into you regardless my fingers vigilantly tracing the dips and curves that create you, the faded frown lines on your forehead and the slight stubble of your chin. I admire the way your lashes cast an almost innocent shadow onto the bone of your cheek as your slow and steady breathing easing my erratic mind momentarily as my thoughts began to wonder against my will.   

Sunday, I cautiously slip from your hold and patter my way to the kitchen to brew a cup of liquid sleep and quickly swipe your lighter and pack of West 20’s while mutely making my way towards the balcony. The realisation of the outside’s bitter breeze crashes onto me so I retrace my steps to the lonely chair in the corner of the room where your sweatshirt lays, I quickly cover my half bare figure. I grimace as the balcony door squeaks but thankfully you don’t stir, with a coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other I slip into the cool air, closing my eyes while curling into the comfort of our outdoor chair. Your sweatshirt swallowing up my body as I look across the busy town, enjoying the satisfying hum of people echoing through the morning. I think of myself in this moment, allowing my mind to be selfish while wait for tomorrow when I will be swept off my feet with the force of your love.  


This story was submitted for The Common Room, a place for all young people to share their views. Got something to say? Everyone’s welcome – click here to contribute!