ָ࣪

like,   i’m skipping this town the first chance i get to just   /live/   a little. 

*     please :3

*    pls

@ourangeI / ?

trust me,  i might cherish this moment.  [once he’s offered the rest,  he attempts to eat the sandwich to a sane-level degree,  but ultimately scarfs it down like a man starved.]  

no.   i don’t even know why i ordered it..   i don’t like pesto.   or sandwiches.   here,   [she’d slide untouched half–sandwich, filled with pesto and tomato, in his general direction.]     hopefully you’ll like it more than i did.       \       @testedsoul.

you’re an angel,     [she’s entirely soaked and wind–swept, though white–ish, almost dull, digits’ll reach from school–uniform pocket’s security, anyways, to encircle the umbrella’s handle.]     –truly.   i would’ve gotten sick,  probably..   immune system’s still not caught up with this town’s weather.       \       @eadimidium.

[suburbia’s lusterless night–life is, for a moment, all the ear’ll detect: suv’s droning past and downy critters fleeing. it’s what’s expected in a town such as this one. she – communal pariah blemished with reds and maroons to match faded checks of a plaid skirt – isn’t. so:]     ..  yeah.     [she’ll bend faunish length of skeletal legs, settling down beside the blonde–haloed cherub.]     i caught johnnie s. watching me when i first moved here,     –/creep./   i haven’t walked past his porch in weeks.       \       @cultofsaltz.

[the two are tucked away — in the pocket of whispering backroom — with only the desolated population of suburban town’s rat population to bear witness to moment of sublimity. eyes’ll pull away from the encompassing landscape and pivot to the other for only a second, returning once more, in practiced teen—aged disinterest, as if she’d seen no such thing of note to overlook.]     why?   you’re already here.      [she’d meant that to come out nicer.]     i don’t mind,     [the low chirp of her noise is carried off with the wind. girl-angel is slow to shift up, legs mangled in childish persistence.]      it’s like, the only place in this town without some nosy neighbor watching you. 

[aforementioned hideout is st. west’s aluminum underbelly, with its myriad of amalgamated memorabilia: a crumpled abraham lincoln, chewed spearmint gum, and sticky–notes scribbled on with kitschy pen. (“XXX–XXX–XXXX if u want 2 have a fun night ;),” seems to have been someone’s abhorrent attempt at scoring.) she’s prompted to feel as if she’s intruding, almost, like she belongs, in every sense of the word, anywhere else  instead of teen–hideout.]     ..  sorry,  i can,  uhm–   leave?       \       @cultofsaltz.

marian fukuhara,   "maryanne."          est. since 2025.