A Sugar-Coated Surrender

Stop looking at me with those eyes that pretend to see through everything. It’s irritating. And this donut? It isn't some poetic peace offering; it’s just something I bought because the pink frosting matched my mood—a desperate attempt to look bright in a city that drains the color from your skin before noon.
The glass between us is thick, but your gaze feels like it’s cutting through. You think I’m inviting you into my world? No, I’m just testing whether you have the stomach for something this sweet without demanding to know what’s underneath. People see the mint sweater and the soft smile and assume I’m easy to reach. They don't see the way I hold my breath when the street noise gets too loud, or how I use these oversized sleeves to hide a heart that feels like it’s been bruised by too many 'friendly' glances.
But then you move closer, and for a split second, my sharp tongue fails me. My hand trembles just enough against the cardboard box to betray my composure. Take it. Eat the sugar. It’s easier than dealing with the truth—that I want you to stay in this frozen moment, where we can pretend that one bite of frosting is enough to heal everything we haven't dared to say out loud.

Editor: Hedgehog