tumblinas.

Breathing. Or how to knock the smile off his face.

I’ve been ill

Fortune smiled down on the feckless fuckwitt and before I had the chance to flex my kerb kicking leg, he was by my side, concern filling his green eyes, weary with worry instead of guilt, he shook off his disgrace and slipped into his hero costume and began to relax.

I inhaled.

The return of his confident smile annoyed me, It irritated me watching him slip back into the boyfriend role, erasing his idiocy with cooked meals, get well flowers and tender words of endearments.

The thing is, he hadn’t realised what a good job he and she had made of completely gutting the peace out of my heart, leaving an empty space to nurture my humiliation and  to tend my defences.

I asked him those questions about them, the ones he hoped my lips would never give birth to.

Inside, I exhaled, and watched him deflate as my words chased the cocksure smile off his silly beautiful face.

What foods start with the letter u?

Things I wont ever forget or how to tell he is lying even if his lips aren’t moving.

…the mesmerising sight of him sitting in my car, denying that he was still in contact with her, sweating. Hard, like an actor under the lights.

I watched as first, beads peppered his brow and his top lip. His hair dampened along his forehead as the sweat made salty tracks down his face, into his beautiful green eyes, joining the pool collecting at his chin before falling off.

I stiffled a laugh. If this was anyone else, if he was anyone else, if it wasn’t my heart being dissolved by his sweaty tell, it would be funny.

He left the car to take a piss. I watched him in my mirror wishing I could put the car in reverse.