A simple image, yet it was something that grabbed my attention instantly—it was stuck onto a dingy lamppost somewhere between the Haggerston canal and Dalston junction. My memory fails me as to where exactly I took this picture so long ago (as you can probably tell by the snapchat format, a dying app), still, I come back to this image constantly. It's saved on my phone as well as my laptop, in which I can count on one hand the pictures I have.
I am obsessed. I am obsessed with the feeling of your name on my tongue. It stains my mouth in red, leaving behind a taste of want and need. It’s imprinted on my brain, the ridges soft and falling away. In the moments of quiet the want consumes me and I can think of little else. The blood that rushes through my body flows at a rhythm that you dictate, my pulse rate increases as I touch the places where you touched that night. My touch does not leave behind the burn that yours did, but extinguish the flame inside me. I replay the night we bathed my bedsheets in sweat, the early morning sky lighting up behind us, revealing a new haven in the form of our bodies moving together. I couldn't stop touching you then, and I can’t stop touching me now. Thoughts of you seep into my conscious, taking form in my memories. My eyes flutter open, I am alone.