𝗣𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗼𝗽𝗵𝗼𝗯𝗶𝗮: the fear of love or of becoming emotionally connected with another person.
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Her, the only one who is not afraid of saying what she thinks and not kissing his ass.
Him, the only one that wakes up a part of her that she as ne...
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I want a braid!" The little girl exclaims looking excited at her mom as the little girl's exact image but older brushes through the long hair on top of the little girl's head, looking like a bit nest.
"A braid it is then" the mom decides with her soft comforting voice that sounds like a lullaby. The woman tangles her fingers through the knots and then starts to braid the hair.
The talkative little girl starts talking to her mom about the day she had in first grade today, and the mother smiles like she just received the biggest present she has ever gotten.
"I love you, mommy" the girl turns around looking at the just done braid in the large mirror in front of them, smiling at how pretty it is. She hugs her mother tightly and places a sloppy childish kiss on her cheek, excited that they could spend some time together after mommy has to work most of the time.
"I love you too baby"
~~~
I scrub the towel through my hair, drying them and tucking them back in the towel so that they don't start to drip on the wooden floor.
I dry off my body and take the cream from my wardrobe. I make my way to my mirror, letting the towel fall down my shoulders so that the scars there are visible, and I open the cream, taking some in my fingers, I take a deep breath as I see the red tissue of my burned skin now permanently like this.
I press my cream-covered finger over the redness and I feel the unusually but usual roughness under my fingertips, something that I'm still not accustomed to after all these years and I don't think I've ever will.
I can feel tears brim in my eyes but I keep them in, continuing to spread the cold cream over the burned lifted scar. I need to get accustomed to this. I need to feel this.
I do that to all of the visible ones, the others mostly covered from my tattoos, but the tattoo artist and my doctor told me that it could have irritated my skin even more if I did the tattoos on sensitive skin so some part of my scars aren't all covered.
I finish applying it, and I place it back in the wardrobe where I keep all of my creams and I tighten the towel around my body.
I go back to the mirror wanting to torture myself this morning after the dream I had and the text I got.
I'm not in the right mind space to do a stupid interview because that was what was written in the text this morning from my manager. I hate interviews because the interviewer usually takes jabs at me trying to lighten the audience but we both know she thinks what she is jabbing at me. And I hate how unapologetic they are about their need to insult me to make entertainment. And the worst thing is that we are gonna play some stupid game me an asshole guy. Yeah, he is gonna be there too.
