She was beautiful. Long legs, boobs I wished she’d breast-feed me.
But her eyes were the best thing. Neither blue nor green, a cocktail of colours. Her eyes.
We looked at each other, she and I, without speaking. A few texts, Facebook…
Then one day at school we met in the corridor.
She looks at me. I look at her.
She takes my hand. To the restroom.
She kisses me, hot and violent. She won’t let me go. She drinks my soul.
Then she leaves, as if nothing had happened. Radio silence.
After a while I don’t wait for her anymore.
She sees me, days have passed, leaning on a vending machine, my hands on every inch of Mary.
«Wanker» she hisses hurt, walking by.

To Flavia

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