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May 18, 2020
Hi Could I get some feedback on this creative I wrote? Thanks!!

Snakes Always Strike on Valentines.
“I cannot be awake, for nothing looks to me as it did before. Natasha, you mean the world to me, I need you back, I wish you were here to spend your time with me, not anyone else’s - Happy Valentines, Nathan.
George’s hand tensed as he placed the non-descript piece of paper back onto the bistro table, a paper that had fallen out of Natasha’s purse as she made her way to the restroom, however he found himself reading it once more, verifying for the last time if it was his doing, but the scribble was not his. he tittered - it was not common for letters to be sent these days, technology took over society, a simple text would have sufficed, it would be more secretive too.
He looked out the grimy Palladian window of the corner café, at the laughing couples who strolled hand-in-hand along the greenish canals, it was a quiet afternoon in the suburban streets of Venice. The air smelt of brewing coffee, but also, imperceptibly of algae.
George had been looking forward to this Valentine’s weekend, COVID had made it hard to predict whether this trip would go ahead but he had persisted, took a gamble if you will, and secretly planned a surprise getaway anyway. He would not describe himself as a romantic - indeed it was a miracle he had even settled into a relationship. But with Natasha, it was easy. She seemed to inspire a level of commitment that he did not even know he had.
George thought back to a time in his life where fidelity was not such an issue. Those were the days when he could freely frequent bars and chat up pretty faces as much as he wished. It was freeing for sure, but after the first set of lockdowns hit, that life disappeared entirely. It surprised him how easily he and Natasha had seemed to connect. They had met on one of those ubiquitous dating apps. The ones which seemed to have filled his Facebook newsfeed as the lockdowns dragged on. At the time, those ads only served to remind George of his isolation. But as his boredom increased, he made a profile of his own. It took a few days before he received his first match, and then another day before his next match arrived - a relatively short time frame as his friend would later inform him. Usually it took guys many weeks to get the first match. That friend had been waiting for months. At first George thought that timeframe was odd. His friend was not exceptionally good looking but was passable. And with the amount of people that were on these dating apps, surely it was inevitable that he would have met someone sooner. But as George later discovered, these matches went as quickly as they came. It was difficult, he found, to sustain a digital conversation several times a day with the same person, he felt as if he was jaded, from his already isolated state, longing for interaction and companionship. Although, with Natasha it was different, she wasn’t the most outgoing at first, it took a couple of weeks before she bloomed into the person he now knew, they chatted - maybe for a month or two, but eventually knew each other quite well, as so he thought.
Whilst George was somewhat disappointed in reading the letter, an immediate sense of realisation came about him. The past of him letting things go was conversed, for he was the one that was let go of, at this moment he wasn’t for say a changed man, but something shifted in him, a sense of regret grew about him, something previously unknown.
The brewer pinged, notifying him the coffee was ready, a small but strong bitter espresso scent stimulated him.
“George! Where do you want to head out first? Gondola riding?, visiting the palace? Basilica Di San Marco? Whatever fills your cup” Natasha’s voice delighted him from behind as she returned, though providing him with a sense of urgency. His hairs stood up as he discretely scrunched the letter which waited on the table yearning for the attention of its mistress, and pushed it into his pockets feeling singular strands of linen tear from his trousers. But Natasha overlooked this, instead making a fuss of the smell emitting from the canals that ran on the side of the café - the permeation of ageing algae clotted the nostrils producing a foul odour. But George didn’t pay attention to that, as the letter still dwindled in his dismayed mind…
“Ciao”, They held hands as they walked through the Venetian doors of the café, the sky was filled with red amongst the valentine's scenery, George felt a mixture of love but bitterness perspired through the air though it could be the mould peeling off the canals. Slowly the two blended into the crowd of couples and tourists. But, George wanted to get her back this weekend.

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