by lauren atkinson

 She told me not to wait up for her. unfortunately, i am a child: touching flames the parents asked me not to, pulling my sibling’s hair when no one’s looking, and picking at the skin around my nails despite knowing it drives you mad.

and as i lay awake thinking of where she is i know without a doubt not a soul can touch her and she, of course, is the most enchanting in the room. she's the moon and the goddamn air and entire sky around it.

it’s not jealousy that keeps me waiting. it is the prospect that someone, somewhere, thinks the same about me and I had always wished it would be her.