The alarm sounds. There's too many awkward moments. I never have those. Everything is comfort to me, I am comfort, I'm made of bloody feathers and fur and soft blankets.
Except I'm not really. I like to pretend.
You look at me. I like that look, that face, but it'll never be enough, it'll never be him. I turn away so as not to get sucked in. It works, I'm free again and I know I can plough on through.
I'll move away one day. You'll forget I was ever here and I'll be having this exact moment with another person, in another place, in another time. I'll be their confusion then, but not for long. The everlasting, ever moving blip on the radar.
False alarm.
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