𝘾𝙀𝙊. - 𝘾𝙀𝙊 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

20.

━━━

𝘼/𝙉 - 𝘼𝙨 𝙄 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙 𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧, 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 20'𝙩𝙝 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧, 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙈𝙧 𝘿𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙤𝙫𝙨𝙠𝙮'𝙨 𝙋𝙊𝙑 !

━━━

̶B̶e̶a̶u̶t̶i̶f̶u̶l̶.̶

Concerned.

And I am just as concerned as she is.

Which only leaves me to ponder, what exactly is troubling her to this level.

Assurance leaves her just as uneasy, and it leaves me ultimately hopeless.

I've observed this woman for as long as she has entered the doors of my life.

The way she works. Speaks.

̶B̶r̶e̶a̶t̶h̶e̶s̶.̶

It's professional.

Observance is a critical step in how one chooses the best workers, before one trains them, and places them in their most suited role for the job.

However, a part of me may have taken this into a space that breaks both my morals and genuinely concerns me.

To any other person placed in a role such as mine, it'd be particularly expected to place a worker like her into something more 'private'. Isolated. Anyone else would do that. Lock her away, place her in a job she would most likely despise, but find comfort in the privacy of the lack of conversation.

But I am not 'anyone else'.

Maybe I was selfish.

I am guilty, I can acknowledge that, but I would never speak of this to her.

Nor, anybody else.

It's quite common, actually. To place a specific or prioritised worker in a role so close to you, as it feeds the ego and comfort you hold with you and them.

Or, you simply find them attractive.

My hand lifts, running down the stress of my features, my eyes tightening shut. If I could wipe my emotions off, I would. But I can't, and they paint my face like a canvas.

I cannot have her to feel unsafe with me. That's the last thing I want. Need.

I find myself having odd dreams. I am a heavy sleeper, yet dreams rarely infiltrate my nights.

Until she infiltrated my life.

They are hazy, and barely comprehensible. But Just because I cannot see a thing in my dreams, doesn't mean I cannot feel anything in my dreams. Worse; the second I awaken, she is the first thing to flash before my eyes within what used to be the security of my mind.

̶W̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶h̶a̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶c̶o̶m̶e̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶m̶e̶.̶

━━━

My pen scrapes its ink through each line of text I write, each signature, each etch and word. And to think, these are the men and women who swear to manage their businesses responsibly.

All I hear is the brain-rotted, money-drowned blabber of children with the tailored and suited bodies of adults, conversing with one another as if their ideas hold great purpose.

It only agitates me.

None of these money-grown, soulless shells know a thing of real work. Real money.