Loving you is rotten work (but then again, so is loving me )

Yeah yeah gay love. But have you considered gay "I don't even really like you" and gay "I'm here because I have to be."  Terribly poetic yet ugly gay "nobody wants us, so pretend to love me and I'll pretend to love you back."

Not even I really know what's going on here, but the vibe is the emotional version of doing a large group project alone. And a reminder that actions matter more than thoughts.

Enjoy!

tw// I don't think any?

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On the list of things which might be said about the girl she called her girlfriend, there weren't many items. This, put bluntly, was because she was boring.

She wasn't the smartest academically, or the dumbest. Her grades were average, mostly Bs and Cs with a few As and Es sprinkled around.

Nor was she the best when it came down to practical knowledge. Occasionally she had the odd stroke of genius or clever trick up her sleeve, but usually not.

Very little could be said about her singing voice or instrumental skill. She spoke blandly, sang even more blandly, and played no instruments. Besides the odd short tune, she never carried any interest in composition or song writing.

She held no enthusiasm for athleticism or sports. Running a few miles on the treadmill was about it for her, so there wasn't a single participation medal to her name, much less a trophy.

Her creative drive was also rather lacking. As a child she surely entertained herself with stories and scribbles, as children did, but those stories were long gone.

For her appearance, she was no different than any other teenage girl. She had brown hair down to her upper back and brown eyes, without freckles or scars. She wore a white t-shirt and black pants, with blue sneakers.

Not even her name, Sarah, was unique. There was nothing about her to draw people in or push them away, besides her personality.

But, Molly thought as she drew closer to their usual skatepark-hangout, the exact same thing could be said about herself. That was one of the reasons they made an agreement in the first place.

"Late again, hon," her girlfriend said from atop a ramp. Jumping down, she initiated a loose hug. Molly reciprocated, burying her nose into the crook of her neck, eyes peeking over her shoulder.

Grey and white monsters swum through her vision like a smog she could never quite get rid of.

When twenty or so seconds passed, she drew away. "Yeah. 'Always am, babe," she said. "I brough the bat, if you want a swing," she offered with a near grimace.

"Inner demons acting up again, huh," Sarah hummed knowingly. "Must just be a bad week, mine haven't been all too great lately either."

I don't care. "Tell me about it."

A kid somewhere far away started wailing loudly. Her girlfriend's neutral expression grew pinched, then smoothed down as that emotion was stamped out. She began to go over the ghosts which had decided to haunt her that week.

Molly forced herself to listen, not contributing much besides the occasional mumbled acknowledgement. The baseball bat was solid in her hands, smacking clearly through the monsters like the smoke they were.

"-But anyway, that's basically been my day. Not much happened. What about you?" Sarah finished. Getting up, Molly passed her the bat and sat down, describing her day at a much slower pace.

Her girlfriend swung wide ineffective circles, seemingly trying to be rid of her monsters rather than simply letting off steam.

Three, two, and.... one. The bat went flying out from her hands and down into the tress, just as Molly expected.