a student. a teacher. you'd either expect a kinky love story which had no value or a relationship with no more than an ask of academic help. unfortunately that wasn't an option for anxiety ridden kimberly browne and words of velvet alex david.

cigarettes

"HEAL HER ALEXANDER. Heal her," had seemed to be the only combination of words that never, ever left my brain. I wanted to know why, I wanted to understand. 


I tried to figure out how could Alex possibly 'heal' me, when there was nothing to heal? 


I was completely fine, other than my never ending disability to not sleep and have boundless panic attacks. 


I don't even think Alex understood what he meant either; I certainly didn't, but you would expect the poet to understand hidden meanings, especially from him. 


Also, it wasn't as though I could just walk up to him and say 'Hey, remember that time when you said that, what the fuck did you mean?' 


The majority of my days were spent wondering about what was to happen in the future; I mean, how could I not? Everything us as humans are going to experience, will forever be a mystery. 
