Stupid Little Love Notes
Stained with tear drops of Chanel, and riddled with creases. He smelt their scent before he saw them, folded clumsily underneath the door jam. Even in the early hours when scarlet first began to crack the sky, they'd lie there, waiting, watching, singing out to him in the most enticing voice.
They were always written on the torn pages of old classic novels; The Great Gatsby, Jane Eyre, Alice in Wonderland to name the most recent. He always winced at the thought of a vital passage being stripped from their bindings; a link in the chain broken. A tale broken. But curiosity as ever broke through.
Before he even dared to unfold the letters, he would hold them up and inhale their aroma of people, and places and knowledge; twisting and dancing in type-written print around him.
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