21 Curls
Her curls are like ribbons of dark chocolate, only blacker. Thom follows them around the room and when they’re not there, he imagines their circular pattern curling into the edge of his view like paper burning, dissolving as quickly as it is seen. Everything seems to look like them too – the shadow of the curtain rings against the light, the winding grain of the coffee table, even the shapes he makes in the sky when he joins the stars together...
Thom doesn’t know why he can’t stop thinking of those curls. Even the few seconds when he manages not to, his thoughts turn to the edge of her red underwear he glimpsed beneath her skirt the day they first met. Then, he gladly returns to the curls before he can begin to blush or think of Emma.
Thom hasn’t spoken to Emma in days, maybe
