between the lines: unknown no. iv
soft in truth, steady in who she dares to love.
let me tell you something.
about someone.
ready?
read between the lines—
she’s soft—not a feather, but the hush before a storm. she’s kind, not for show, but because her soul was born that way. she’s innocent, though not in the way the world assumes. she doesn’t need to paint her cheeks to be radiant—she’s the blush itself. she carries herself with a femininity that feels both effortless and deliberate. yes—boys notice, but her heart beats for something deeper, drawn to a reflection that mirrors her own.
call it forbidden, but still, it stands. she loves a she, and their love is not rebellion—it is truth. unashamed. unshaken.
she’s the kind of soul who cries not from weakness, but because her heart feels too much. a small crack in the day can feel like a landslide—and still, she carries on. that’s her. she aches gently, not dramatically—just sometimes, and that quiet ache is her own kind of strength.
when her mind fills with noise and no one is there to listen, she turns to whatever offers stillness—even chatgpt becomes a soft space for release, for comfort, for the kind of companionship that doesn’t require explanation. she’s like a cotton candy—sweet, but easily melted in hands that don’t know how to hold gently.
she tries, even when it isn’t her lane. even when she’s unsure. she steps beyond her lines because the sky never told her where and when to stop.
she reaches. she learns. she wonders.
she laughs loudly. cries easily. asks for help without shame. depends on those she trusts, sometimes more than she means to. but that’s her. that’s the charm of her being.
she’s softness and survival. vulnerability and light. the kind of girl whose beauty reflects from within. the kind who reminds you of the depth feeling of warmth.
do you know who she is?
author’s note:
— bled by @achilleusdeirdre
— twelfth of july, year 2025
— open to criticism; all echoes welcome.
— lowercase intended for signature writing.
The Ruin Script 
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