Half-Monster
I find myself placing my hands in my pockets to avoid touching her.
Her tight ballerina bun held every coil in place—perfect, except for two stubborn curls that slipped free. Those loose strands framed her face like broken lines of poetry, raw and real. That halo of textured defiance clashed hard with her sharp, unyielding features.
She wears little makeup. I’ve never had strong opinions about makeup, as it's a choice, like dressing up. We all do it in our way. But there’s something about seeing her face untouched by contour or markings...her eyes, her nose, just her. This is what pulls me in. It's honest. And suddenly, I'm interested.
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