The boy had devil’s horns. Everyone saw them. She saw them too, and laughed in her head. She saw that what was on his head was plastic. Plastic devil’s tiara. The cheap one. She laughed, and called him a fool. In her head.
He tucked in his wings. Pristine, real wings. He hid them well from the world. She laughed in her head. He was careful about how he hid the wings, but teeny tufts of feathers peeped out, that only she saw. She laughed, and called him a fool. In her head.
He acted as if he did not care. He shrugged his shoulders loudly every time he did not care. At the same time, he curved his lips to make an inverse U, to show that he did not care. But deep inside he blamed himself for everything. He walked away to shrug off the blames, with a heavy heart. She laughed, and called him a fool. In her head.
Everytime he failed, she fell a little more, and she laughed a little more.
It did not matter to her anymore, if she was only imagining the plastic horns, the real wings, the heavy heart, that he carried with him. She had never imagined such beauty before. She had never felt this way before. She had never felt the pain of sweet wounds, that would probably never heal. He had destroyed everything for her, by building a new universe inside her. Her imagination was the purest, and the truest thing ever.