His mind came up with the answer almost instantaneously so that's not what he was thinking while he stood there quiet and looking at her. No, he was thinking about the fact that she looked beautiful, not the traditional kind of beautiful made up in magazines to be things like 'slim but sexy' 'blonde hair over black' 'foundation, foundation, foundation', all of it propaganda to sell more products. No, no, no, she was beautiful in that tragic kind of way that he supposed all broken things usually were. Her skin was so white and shining that it might very well be made of sparkling pearl, her eyebrows were furrowed and mouth slightly downturned, one of her lips being bitten slightly by a pointed tooth. Her hands were shaking but not with cold, with an emotion he knew quite well. Fear. Not irrational fear, justified fear, the kind that came from experience, that you can only get from going through hell and coming back differently than when you entered. The kind of fear that is only felt by broken people. People a little bit like him.
A.N. I'm not gonna lie, that is the last paragraph in the new chapter of a fic that I've been working on for a few months but I felt like it kinda belonged here too, so like here it is.
VOUS LISEZ
Oneshot poems and stories
PoésieA collection of short stories and poems. Mild-severe trigger warning, some to a lot of these were written when I had depression. *I wrote everything please don't steal it*
