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SEVEN ✃ DRUNKEN KISSES.
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2020.
𝕸arylin Jane lived in my house as if she were a ghost.
This had confirmed my hypothetical option of how, that young girl, was just a hallucination and, by dint of repeating it to myself, I could swear that I was going insane again.
Marylin hadn't changed. She couldn't change. And if I had only tried to hope that after that close proximity, the girl would become less of a bitch, I was sorely mistaken.
Yet she didn't show it, staying on her somewhat pandering, nonchalant self. I couldn't understand whether she really cared in the end or not.
She didn't know what she wanted either, a wild spirit outside the rules.
I simply couldn't understand her because she had essentially grown up that way.
She could give love in other ways, with distance, some days she was affectionate and clingy, others, as her head turned, she would look away and not speak to me all day. That behaviour, that way of hers, made my stomach turn with nervousness, then I got used to it and preferred to have her with me as a ghost instead of not having her at all.
I couldn't even tell if we were a couple, but Marylin was so bad with words that she could never express herself decently. And if she did, she would go into selective mutism in the following days, as had happened in those weeks.
It didn't last long, she would eventually come back constantly. She would knock as if nothing had ever happened, resuming our usual routine. Did she want sex, love or simple fun?
I was shocked, especially after her not-so-appropriate confession, but she remained silent in submission.
Marylin had always been a bit strange since I had met her, but I loved her company.
The last memory I had of that year was faded by how memorable it had been. I was simply stunned, my feelings high as an alcoholic, I was unable to handle natural emotions.
