The last things.

A flashback before your eyes – that’s what the books always say. The last thing I thought of while I lay stark naked in the radiology cabin today before they spoke to each of the tumours individually – a warning, a time-line and a deadline and so forth – so the last thing I think of and mumble in my head was please let me be the last girl he hits. Please let me be the last girl he spits on. Please let me be the last girl who has to continually prove her love to him.  Please let him be happy. Please let him be open to life. Please let him never know how short life is. Please let him know love. Please take away his anger. Who the fuck was I praying to ?

M.

I’ve been reading too much of F Scott Fitzgerald so humour me as I quote:

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