#wlw.

i saw a woman with a buzzed head today, which was holier than my long skirts ever were. we didn't speak; i probably didn’t make her line of sight, but i followed behind as we crossed the street in silence. if she had turned to me to offer her services as manic pixie dream butch i might have taken her hand right there. her button-up had butterflies printed across it, spreading their wings, winking their many false eyes. maybe love is sometimes a feeling in your aching chest that you can’t put down, but it’ll fit in the bright-colored backpack slung over her shoulder if she’ll carry it for you. maybe a small love is always enough if you part ways thinking of butterflies, and of the soft baby hairs peeking out from under a baseball cap at the nape of a stranger’s neck where the razor once buzzed gently against her skull. i wanted to thank her. i wanted to kiss her just to run my fingertips along the fuzz. maybe a life is made of briefnesses like this one, where she turned a corner i didn't, and it was still warm under my skin.

Is being a princess who runs barefoot in the corridors and bake scones and other treats with the chefs despite constantly being scolded by her parents and talks to the flowers in her garden and spends hours in the library reading up on a multitude of genres and falls in love with one of the female servents so unreasonable?