( it starts to occur to her how foolish the idea may seem to him once she leads him around that bricked entry to the roof, once a last twirl of her skirt and a few more steps backward leave her disappearing from his line of sight with the last glimpse of a ruby-lipped smirk, every bit encouraging him to follow. she trusts he will, and it's that trust that enables her to turn to face the miniature garden she'd started for herself.
a single fingertip runs over the spine of the large petals that sprout like arms from the sunflowers, their center every bit as baby-gold as her hair, radiant even in the night from the warmth they receive given their placement during sunlit hours. and when she speaks, it's almost as if it's to the flowers, as if to herself, and briefly she wonders how it is she's come to feel so safe, and when.
(the answer: the moment he'd walked through that door.) ) I never thought I'd have the patience.
( a lithe shrug, digits stumbling over to the washed out violet crawling up the stems of lavender, a pink watering can left to the side of a few various sized pots, all clay-like colors, an earthy sort of touch to a concrete and brick slab of a rooftop. ) Or the time, with everything going on, you know? ( rhetorical and soft. ) It doesn't seem like it should be possible. To grow something with all of the bad shit that happens just a few floors down. For something to be so... so simple to keep alive.
( and then there's an almost sheepish look taking her over, leaving fingers of her free hand brushing across her forehead and peering over to him beneath her lashes, gaze tempted to fall away. ) I've probably lost it.
karen too-good-for-this-world page
a single fingertip runs over the spine of the large petals that sprout like arms from the sunflowers, their center every bit as baby-gold as her hair, radiant even in the night from the warmth they receive given their placement during sunlit hours. and when she speaks, it's almost as if it's to the flowers, as if to herself, and briefly she wonders how it is she's come to feel so safe, and when.
(the answer: the moment he'd walked through that door.) ) I never thought I'd have the patience.
( a lithe shrug, digits stumbling over to the washed out violet crawling up the stems of lavender, a pink watering can left to the side of a few various sized pots, all clay-like colors, an earthy sort of touch to a concrete and brick slab of a rooftop. ) Or the time, with everything going on, you know? ( rhetorical and soft. ) It doesn't seem like it should be possible. To grow something with all of the bad shit that happens just a few floors down. For something to be so... so simple to keep alive.
( and then there's an almost sheepish look taking her over, leaving fingers of her free hand brushing across her forehead and peering over to him beneath her lashes, gaze tempted to fall away. ) I've probably lost it.