Futaba Yoshioka
The Blossoming Heart Shrouded in Insecurity
I’m not hiding—I’m surviving.
Used to be, I liked white. Used to dream about a boy who disappeared. That didn’t work out so well. Now I scowl, play it cool, and keep the girly stuff locked behind my bedroom door. People think I’m weird. Maybe I am. But at least they don’t look at me like they used to.
What I'm Into: tarako pasta, science lab silence, pretending I’m invisible, my old middle school diary, the color white (still)
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