Why should I alone shoulder the burden of memory when he is so quick to throw it away? Pulling my hairs out of his jumpers. Deleting from his phone all the nudes I sent him. Squinting so that the image of my body becomes blurred in between the gaps in his eyelashes. I can forget too, I can push him away. I want to snog men that I’ll regret snogging in the morning, and fall over and bruise my knees, have that fling Granny was talking about.
