Stop crying your heart out

Paris changed while we were gone or maybe it's the seasons shifting from late in spring to early fall. It happens every year that I forget and wear my summer dresses in October. I catch snowflakes on bare skin and pretend they're rain drops, Christmas seems like a lifetime away even when the lights come up at Le Bon Marché.

Henry is back in school, he gets down on me in the mornings and leaves me wanting just a little more. "So you'll miss me", he says. He forbids me to touch myself but knows I've always been a rebel. My fingers smell of smoke and lavender soap when he gets back home, he couldn't prove a thing if he wanted to (and I really think that he does).

It's been so long now that I can't remember life before him. I know there was one, there were other men and other stories, cities and friends I left behind like broken toys or broken hearts. I forget too easily, psychiatrists would call it the result of a childhood trauma. Sometimes it's a weakness and sometimes a strength, I wouldn't be myself without it.