Blue Jeans

I remember when I first saw you, wearing those faded blue jeans I came to love so much. Frayed at the ends just like you. You were no means the devil but you were definitely no saint. I don’t know why you paid me attention that night. I wasn’t wearing anything special. Just that white one off-shoulder top handed down from my sister. You smirked at me standing in the corner. I was nervous that night. I had crept out the house whilst my parents slept. Eager to experience house parties and alcohol but freezing as soon as I arrived. Not brave enough to approach the colourful bottles, glasses and shots all on offer. That night you got me a cocktail that you made yourself. I didn’t question what was in it. What you had put in it. I never questioned anything when it came to you.

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