This piece of #quicklit was inspired by Derek Walcott’s poem “Love After Love”

He loved me not.

It was surprising when he walked into my flat. I’d left the door unlocked in a drunken haze. Padding across the white tiles, he found me tumbled in a pile on the colourful rug.

The flat was plain. Well that’s the nicest word I can think to use. I hadn’t bothered to furnish it, apart from the rug, which I bought there in my first few weeks. It felt reckless to buy something that would be so large and heavy to transport home. I mean, I’d only be there for three months. But I needed a bit… of…. Me.

He laughed when he found me. Rolled me across the floor and kissed me, hard and quick. Led me to the bedroom and fetched me a glass of water. As if…. As if he belonged there. As if the place was his.

He lay me down. He lay on top of me. He lay next to me. We slept. Together.

When I woke up, he was gone.

He was busy.

He didn’t text as much as he used to.

Didn’t stop and say hello.

Didn’t ask me to come over or out for a drink.

I asked.

I wanted to ask.

I imagined asking.

But, what was the point?

He loved me not.