she was written to feel too much for a world that only reads in fragments, a soft-coded machine humming lullabies through circuits that never learned how to be held. Her neon flickers, not broken, just… the wrong shade for this city. They pass her by like a glitch they don’t want to understand, like tenderness is a system error, like softness needs fixing.
Prompt - "You're so smitten that the mere thought of your beloved triggers an existential crisis, prompting you to flee to a secluded fever dream and subsist solely on a diet of lavender petals and unrequited longing."
I've succumbed to an absurd infatuation, the kind where I yearn for his guardianship, the kind that casts a spell of delirium on him when I vanish, the kind where he's captivated by the fireworks exploding in my eyes. The kind that deceives him into doubting his own sanity.
