Awkwardly haunting her back garden in the wee hours of the morning. Peeking through the curtains in a pathetic attempt to catch a glimpse of glistening pink skin.
She knows I’m there. She loves that I’m there. It excites her.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
The neck-broken tulips under my feet will serve as evidence later. They will say that I stomped on their corpses in anticipation. The delicate yellow heads crushed and battered. They deserve the same chalk halo.
She loved me in the end. Throat wrapped in precious silk. She loved me.
Word Count: 99
So I’m not quite sure I like the way this turned out, but it is what it is.