Your neck is tilted up at an awkward angle to keep your chin resting on the other's shoulder, taking away your ability to swallow or take in deep breaths. Even though you had stopped crying, there's still salt glued to your cheeks from tears that had dried there moments ago. It itches, though you keep your arms wrapped firmly around the one with their arms around you. It feels as if they're holding pieces of a broken human together, unable to let go until it has showed promise of staying intact. You're not comfortable. But you stay.
YOU ARE READING
Oh, Lazy Day
De TodoSometimes the most wonderful things start with a simple lazy day. Enjoy my somewhat-formalised editions of scattered thoughts, and meaningless descriptions of sensory aesthetics.
