It was cold that night and bitter frost had laced itself around. As I pulled on muddied boots and swept them with a cloth my mind drifted into a hazy place. Not foreign for it to do so, my mind was like a tv remote that was incorrectly wired and so suddenly you’d find yourself watching BBC 1, when really you’d wanted to watch the catch up of ‘Mr Frost’ on 1TV. Or maybe it was a ghost, skipping around, pushing buttons.
The day had been long and I had prepared myself for a significant amount of time, acted out this venture, reenacted the last. You were like this to me. A hint of cruelness lived beyond your pretty eyes. I wasn’t sure if this was just my imagination though, I’d always had a wavering confidence, but as I found myself trudging along to the pathway that led me to your home I knew that this was right. I would see you and your unnerving confidence and golden halo would convince me. Yes, pleasure. This was right.
The pathway to your door perhaps should of been covered in candles. Us with our unmeaning full romanticises . I smirked to myself and shook the shoulders before taking my hand out to tap tap tap. Confidence remember? And I would of known them anywhere, those horror movie shoes as they slightly made their clunking sound before reaching the door. From your side I imagine stood a terrible man, intriguging in my enduringness of your sweet cruelty. A turn of the hand and the door was open. You stood before me and I saw the bitter frost had laced itself around you as well. With your vixen smile and striking eyes.
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