Her

She lashed out at him. Like a small dog reacting to taller beings simply passing by. Protecting what has been deemed as most precious and necessary. Egolicious.

She’s humming, a way of distracting, or rather cope with her insecurity. Much like he did when he was on that dark path – figuratively and literally. 

Her humming turning to singing, albeit still a suppressed singing. Not the flamboyant type. Closer to a fragile convincing singing. A way to convince herself of still being the happy version – the one that wants to sing – purely out of her safety and well being. Much too often though, clinging on to the bright side of yourself, turns you to the darkest.

He sees the fear in her eyes – because he’s seen it in himself – and he still does at times when he doubts his existence. Especially when he puts himself in comparison to others. Or rather when he sees himself as less than others. It’s not truly comparison when our fear induced judging eye is flawed.

She’s brushing her hair while shifting her attention between him on the chair and herself in the mirror. She seems annoyed by his presence. Scared. She evades confrontation, but loves drama the most. I guess drama still keeps you in your safe bubble.

He can’t stop but cracking a smile. She treats him so poorly, but this really isn’t about him. How can he stay mad at someone who can’t help it? He still loves her, but it’s enough for him to know.

She made something about him, about her.

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