Dorothy Koomson

I liked him, there was no doubt about that. But I wasn’t sure if he was good for me or not. I didn’t always stick to things that were good for me – positively railed against it sometimes – but he was a different type of not good for me. He did things to my mind and body that I hadn’t ever experienced before.But it wasn’t as if I could get him out of my head either: every moment I had free would suddenly be crammed with thoughts of him. His soft lips, the gentle urgency with which they’d kissed me. The intoxicating smell of his skin. His moss-green eyes that would follow everything I said, then would meet my eyes so we could share a smile. It was driving me slowly and pleasurably insane.


I liked him, there was no doubt about that. But I wasn’t sure if he was good for me or not. I didn’t always stick to things that were good for me – positively railed against it sometimes – but he was a different type of not good for me. He did things to my mind and body that I hadn’t ever experienced before.But it wasn’t as if I could get him out of my head either: every moment I had free would suddenly be crammed with thoughts of him. His soft lips, the gentle urgency with which they’d kissed me. The intoxicating smell of his skin. His moss-green eyes that would follow everything I said, then would meet my eyes so we could share a smile. It was driving me slowly and pleasurably insane.

– Dorothy Koomson –

The Woman He Loved Before

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