Happiness.
Quickly, she scratched that word out from the paper on her lap. As if she was afraid that somebody would see that. As if she knew perfectly that they would laugh at her face and tell her how she did not deserve it at all.
I'm just so scared
to touch happiness
Better.
But why was she scared?
-
He breathed, enjoying the fresh café air that was sweet tranquility to his lungs. Sipping his Earl Grey, he took a second look at the laptop he had been ignoring for a while. This was just too stressful for him. He leaned back to his chair.
Slowly, he turned towards the table behind him.
His lips curled into a thin smile.
It was her. Again-as always. She was always sitting there, with her knitted red beanie over her messily braided hair, making it impossible for him to take even a closer look at her face. Her eyes were always locked on a notebook she was holding. And she was always busy writing, writing, writing.
He kept looking in her direction, as if he knew what would come next-
Rip.
A scrumptious crunch was heard as the paper was torn off her book.
Not long after, he heard the smooth swish as her pencil glided nimbly through the new page, starting over.
He wondered what she was writing.
He kept that sound in his head; it somehow refreshed him.
-
only to have it
taken away again
YOU ARE READING
Tearing Paper
RomanceThere's this girl. She spends every day tearing paper, as if nothing she writes ever makes sense. There's this guy. He spends every day watching her, although he knows he isn't ready to love again. When he finally dares himself to make a move, they...
