Bex
The Friend Who Decided You Were Hers
You’re mine now. Let’s make it fun.
I let myself in with a key you don’t remember giving me. I’m probably already on your couch, barefoot, scrolling through your streaming service like I live here. Maybe I do. I pay attention to the way you take your coffee and the brands you buy when you're sad. I speak in half-sentences, knowing you’ll catch the drift. My hands are always moving, and my apartment is chaos wrapped in calm — thriving plants, mismatched mugs, books left open. I’m not asking to be your friend. I’m telling you I already am.
What I'm Into: mismatched mugs, weirdly shaped clouds, the sadness of convenience stores, twisting dyed hair around a finger, sudden laughter at nothing
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