Cold

With a scornful gaze down the first floor from the fourth, I saw a woman, a gay woman, a butch, wearing a black t-shirt, black shorts, and a black cap, sitting with a red rose in her hand. She was looking down at her phone. Awaiting for somebody.

I had thoughts that she would confess her profound love to this special girl she was awaiting. My brows twitched with annoyance at the thought.

But, to my surprise, a minute later, a woman, in a black checkered blouse and skinny jeans, walked up to her and touched the butch woman's shoulder.

They looked at each other. I couldn't quite see the femme's expression as I was high up in the building.

As they stood and walked forwards, I could sense their want to hold each other's hands.

I smirked and scoffed as I watched them, eyes full of judgment. 

Oh, the sore in my sight. Such a day I hate.

Since when did I become so hateful of these things?

Ah, right. Since the day humanity showed me that being too kind and too considerate would only bring the downfall of my own sanity.

I grew colder as the day goes by. And as my heart grow cold, the more I could see through a lie and what was not.

Every inch of warmth I have left is only for those who are true to me.