consideredcurious:

I perched, reposed carefully taut. Pen froze mid thought and interrupted stroke. My torn black-brown jean cuffs whispered with the floor, dripping snowed tears. 

I was deer. 

Blue cotton buttons, black locks peeking fuck me souls. I wasn’t sure if you were staring at me. Surely the guy behind. Surely the girl onward and upward. Surely not me in my self-absorbed hunchback.

I’m genuine, as much as I can be given the vast distance across coffee-stained cedar. We haven’t even met, but did you know I already love you? Is that why you peeked?