You were my first crush. With your long hair and olive glow. Exotic. Not like the fen boys in class with their shaven heads and acne.
I looked for you at indie discos. In grungy bed hair, pained expressions and downcast eyes. Every Thursday night, dancing to ‘Smells like Teen Spirit’ and The Doors with a different dirty imitation.
After a pound-a-pint or two, I longed to see you naked, stretched out across a single stained mattress. To trace the lean lines of your biceps, triceps, down your sternum to the symmetry of ribcage, counting abs—STOP. I can’t face Confession.
They say you sacrificed yourself for humanity.
So why did I look to save you in all the wasters I dated.
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Biography: Kerry Byrne lives and writes in the Fens with a backdrop of sky-filled waters and endless horizons. Her writing has been published by Lucy Writers, Pidgeonholes, streetcake magazine, Bandit Fiction, Selcouth Station, From Glasgow to Saturn and others. She is editor of FENACULAR, an online publisher of short writing in response to fen art (fenacular.com) and has recently completed a Creative Writing MLitt at the University of Glasgow. Find her on Twitter and Instagram @kerry__byrne.
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Image: unsplash.com
