one day, a strawberry learned to trust a cat.

sadly, as the days passed, the strawberry began to rot and wither, leaving the cat with a bitter aftertaste.

still, the cat carried the strawberry in its mouth.

it was a doomed relationship from the very beginning.

He smiles down at me curled around myself, his voice quiet as he delicately moves a strand of my hair with a finger. His words ring and hang in the air. I hum. That’s all I say, because I’ve never imagined myself getting scared of words I’ve always dreamt of hearing.

“Do I scare you?”

I nod, and he chuckles. A smirk snakes into his mouth.

“I hate it when you’re drunk.” I mutter under my breath, shoving his hand away as he whispers an apology.

“Hey,” he props himself in front of me, hanging his head and resting the mop of red on my folded knees. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

“Stop saying you love me,” I beg. “Please.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you still like me?”

“I like you.” He turns to look up at me when I say nothing in return, breathing out my name like it’s a heavy, weighted thing. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel like you’re forcing yourself to like me.”

“How about you?” He leans closer, until his head is propped on my shoulder. His gaze feels far away. “Do you still like me?”

I hum again. It’s a lie masked as a noncommittal sound. The words “Do you still want to continue?” stick at the back of my throat, but it doesn’t escape.

unfolded – like origami. oblique and odd shaped. never enough to close over the gaps. soft in its creases, uneven around the edges. a constant question of what it’s supposed to be – where it begins to unravel and why it’s contorted the way it is.