eins

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mango

i play with the sleeves of my wool sweater, frantically pulling it over my hands as i scurry into the bland building. relief floods throughout my body, the artificial heat immediately warming my rosy cheeks. november in aspen is not pleasant. but all the same, i like it here. i feel less alone in small cities like these than i do in crowded cities like in new york.

the library has always been my escape from reality. mother says there is nothing wrong with me, that i am just one of "god's unique creations", but i know better. although no one wants to admit it, i have severe anxiety. at least, according to our next door neighbor who happens to be a doctor. and also happens to be doing my mom. (they don't think i can hear their screams from next door.)

i have aimlessly made my way over to the back section where they keep all the old books no one likes anymore. it's my favorite section. the plastic cerulean chairs are all old and dusty, the pages of the books are all glued together from lack of use, and the one small window behind the shelf has cobwebs hanging on its corners. i have never felt so much at home.

i am about to place down my bag and take a seat, when something from behind sends me tumbling into dozens of the plastic chairs.

i whimper as i break my fall with my arms, the dirty carpet just inches from my face. i hear a grunt and it is then that i decide to turn around. there, laying on the ground with a heap of lightweight, cerulean chairs on top of him, lies a boy. his head is facing the ground, away from me, as he just lays there.

"a-are you okay?" i cautiously approach him, unsure if i should help him up or not.

he groans again and slowly gets up himself, brushing his rather large hands on his dark ripped jeans.

"yeah, yeah. i'm good. but are you okay?" it is then that he looks up at me and i suck in a breath. he's very good looking.

his emerald eyes bore into mine, making me shy away from him. it is then that i realize he asked me a question.

"o-oh. uh yeah i-i'm all good," i give him a weak smile and i instantly scold myself for acting so dumb.

he gives me a lopsided grin, confusion yet amusement twinkling amid his beautiful eyes.

"why are you stuttering?" he asks gently.

"b-because of you," i whisper. his face immediately softens and worry is laced in his voice as he whispers the next three letters.

"why?"

"i-i don't know. i stutter a lot around people that i d-don't know," i admit rather sheepishly. he grins, his perfect dimples coming out for display.

"well let's change that. hi, i'm harry."

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lets not talk about how fetus harry looks in the side picture.

lol someone made up a rumor that harry styles was turning 21 today like that's not even funny why would someone make up something as rude as that?2"!2?!

but yeah my tiny frog son is 16 today brb im mixing my intestines with a whisk

also hAPPY SUPER BOWL DAY !!!! idk about you but im just here for the commercials tbh

more updates coming after i eat breakfast because it's 12 pm and im still in bed!!1!11! ((-:

l8er losers !!
you know you love me xoxo me

(^^^^ i hate myself)

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