Sophie is obsessed, which you should know already; she was bewitched at once, when her eyes were lied upon your figure; she sits up late and watches your photos, through your window, and from within her altar, devoted to you.

You are just sitting in your bed in the middle of the night—and putting words to your feelings of an obscenity in observation. “What is this innermost feeling? I am not observed, am I?” however, you did know Sophie in school and her endless gaze, ever since kindergarten. That was so long ago, you just barely remember that, if anything.

You did not want to phantom her room, a stinky and devoted mess out of stolen goods, images, and unspeakable things. It is where she sat utmost throughout her days. She is daydreaming, and you see, she loves you so very much. She will know nothing more or less than your abs, your presence, and each thumping proof of your existence, in your heart.

A story of love, proof, and endearing observation mixed with obsession. Will you notice? Furthermore, you could write a bad romance: be alone in your apartment, and tell her your feelings in bed, in the most formidable of positions. See, you should have fun with this one. Be greedy, and let it guide you forthright, as she speaks her feelings, in other words. 😄