Look into my eyes. Look me in the eyes. What do you see? Do you see anything?
Nothing. There’s nothing. There’s nothing.
"Lucy I.. I don’t understand"
"You wouldn’t, would you?"
Orange?” He seems unconvinced. “Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset,” I say. “At least, that’s what you told me once.” “Oh.” He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. “Thank you.” But more words tumble out. “You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.” Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry. (ic: x x x x)
where are we going to run away? into the woods like we always talked about.
we should have gone when you said.