Rosy hexagons cascade into vanilla honeycombs above the golden circlets tracing their conical skirts. Coral-pink orbs and small, brassy spheres that would caress my cheek with every whirl of my head if I had the right ears for wearing them.
Even the hooks swoop like the shells of my maiden lobes, like they long to pierce my flesh rather than the saffron-shaded cardboard that encapsulates them.
Is this love?
To see someone else's ears with your own hollow, begging to beautify a rupture that was never there
And them never giving it away?
I think this is love.
About the Creator
Wen Xiaosheng
I'm a mad scientist - I mean, film critic and aspiring author who enjoys experimenting with multiple genres. If a vial of villains, a pinch of psychology, and a sprinkle of social commentary sound like your cup of tea, give me a shot.
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