ail777

is that my hole shirt?

*      i’m moaning. serious 

[gigi saltzman circles her perpetually inward companion, butting in the edge of upturned nose — reminiscent of a pig’s in both upturned shape and pink color — to carved out shapes of anaïs that she’s memorized will fit. she’ll stalk, on two tiptoes as if to not scare the other off in sudden movement indicating a clear caving in.]          oh, yeah?           [crushes are child’s play. the boys in the school fall for gimmicks involving locker doors and strawberry gum. anaïs, on the other hand, made the last ends of her sun—embedded finer hairs on her back rise. shutter, like daisies in the afternoon rain.]          ‘m always gentle.   no need for promises, those are for kids.           [she’ll halt the ritualistic — part-childish, part-animal — enclosed circle around her to touch gaze, look up at her as if whispering the last ends of a sleepover’s midnight secret.]          ‘m not a kid,    —are you?

∗     fellas. wyd in this situation. 

*        oh!

+ drop if you’d like ^_^

I hope I die like an angel in your arms, / when all I’ve been is a dog.          ∗          private portrayal of anaïs patel.   est. '26.