your hipster is showing

Because I am in a disgustingly fluffy mood and also because apparently, triangles are hipster.

(It's not a thing.)

He asks what I'm
listening to and I
show him.
The Kooks.
"Your hipster is showing,"
he grins, mischevious.
I flush, and take off
my headphones.

(It's not a thing.)


He plays with my
waterfall braid.
"Your hipster is showing,"
he teases, playful.
I unravel the strands,
sheepish and shy.

(It's not a thing.)


He twists his fingers
in my over-sized
striped sweater.
"Your hipster is showing,"
he laughs, lightly.
I pull at the cloth,
embarassed.

(It's not a thing.)


He eyes my hands.
"Your hipster is showing,"
he says, smirking,
and I blush, tugging
off my fingerless gloves.

(It's not a thing.)


He picks up 
my camera.
"Your hipster is showing,"
he notes, cheeky.
I sigh, red-cheeked,
and hide the polaroid
in my sidebag.

(It's not a thing.)


He taps my Ray-Bans.
"Your hipster is showing,"
he chuckles, bright.
I slide them off,
fold them,
slip them away.

(It's not a thing.)

He grazes my 
black journal.
"Your hipster is showing,"
he declares, solemn.
I laugh and
hit him with it.

(It's not a thing.)

He fiddles with
my phone case.
"Your hipster is showing,"
he banters, pleased.
I stick my tongue
out, grasping the
triangle-cut, white
leather case.

(It's not a thing.)

He likes my
Instagram photo -
us two in a
black-and-white
grunge photo.
"Your hipster is showing,"
he smiles, eyes bright
and I grin, and
tackle him,
kissing him hard.

(It's not -
okay, maybe -
It's a thing.)



The End

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