Theea
maybe there's a way out of the cage where you live
By the time I finally peel myself away from the mask stall—my crescent glass prize tucked safely under my arm with the fabric—I spot him at the table, already looking like he’s been here all afternoon. My seat’s pulled out, and he’s holding fabric shears like they’re some kind of ceremonial dagger. Confident. Maybe a little too confident.
I drop my things onto the table and slide into the chair with a grin. “You said easy,” I remind him, eyeing the angle he’s about to cut. “That doesn’t look easy. That looks like you’re about to either make a masterpiece or invent a whole new kind of fashion crime.”
Leaning an elbow on the table, I tilt my head and smirk. “Want me to hold anything? Or… measure something?” Pretty sure that’s involved in this process, right? I look at my bolt of black fabric I imagined around my top half like its going to swallow me up.
I drop my things onto the table and slide into the chair with a grin. “You said easy,” I remind him, eyeing the angle he’s about to cut. “That doesn’t look easy. That looks like you’re about to either make a masterpiece or invent a whole new kind of fashion crime.”
Leaning an elbow on the table, I tilt my head and smirk. “Want me to hold anything? Or… measure something?” Pretty sure that’s involved in this process, right? I look at my bolt of black fabric I imagined around my top half like its going to swallow me up.
maybe one of these days you can let the light in
