𝒐𝒖𝒓 [ 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 ] 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒌 ➼ She's tired of it―she's tired of it all. Watching from behind. Sneaking peaks, never being able to say: I love you.
Having crushed on the same boy for a long time Isa has realised that it's time for a change. B...
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I walk home in a trance. This evening playing out in my mind. In a constant loop. I have to bake. I need to bake.
As soon as I get home I toss my backpack to my side and pull out all the utensils. A cake. I'll bake a giant cake. Chocolate?
No, vanilla?
Ice cream cake?
No.
Not ice cream.
Anything but ice cream.
Then strawberry? Strawberry shortcake! I'll bake strawberry shortcake!
I wash my hands and pull out all the ingredients. Mixing everything together quickly. I keep on mixing and mixing. Until the batter rips, until my hands bruise, I won't stop mixing. I don't want to stop. I can't stop. Otherwise the thoughts will pile in.
And I won't be able to stop them, and if that happens then the tears will come. And I don't want the tears. I don't want to feel them.
