you drew memories in my mind I could never erase
painted colors in my heart I could never replace
"And what was the second, then?" Amalia's voice is aggressively teasing now, a glint of fire in her glittering eyes. "Did you ask him to make out as soon as you met, or am I special?" Or was he special, this shy little thing who caught her friends eye? Either way, the baker is happy for Adam, and her happiness shows easily in her face.
It is a happiness which fades as he asks her what she would be, if she were not a baker. Flopping down onto her back, the girl hums thoughtfully, clearly giving this question more thought than it strictly needs. What would she be? "I was a librarian, for a little while," she remarks softly, but that doesn't feel right either.
"All I've ever wanted to be was better than I am, but that's not really something you can make a profession out of." Be better- how stupid those words sound now, the mantra she has held to since she was a child. Better than what? Better than whom? And when does better become good enough, or is she destined to languish forever below her expectations, always with a higher goal just out of reach?
She shakes her head and turns to Adam, propping herself up on an elbow. "What about you? If you weren't a thief, what would you be?" Floaty feels right, especially when she moves. Floaty and free, as though there are weights she's worn around her ankles that are finally falling away.
It is a happiness which fades as he asks her what she would be, if she were not a baker. Flopping down onto her back, the girl hums thoughtfully, clearly giving this question more thought than it strictly needs. What would she be? "I was a librarian, for a little while," she remarks softly, but that doesn't feel right either.
"All I've ever wanted to be was better than I am, but that's not really something you can make a profession out of." Be better- how stupid those words sound now, the mantra she has held to since she was a child. Better than what? Better than whom? And when does better become good enough, or is she destined to languish forever below her expectations, always with a higher goal just out of reach?
She shakes her head and turns to Adam, propping herself up on an elbow. "What about you? If you weren't a thief, what would you be?" Floaty feels right, especially when she moves. Floaty and free, as though there are weights she's worn around her ankles that are finally falling away.
meet me where the falling stars live
Amalia
