you drew memories in my mind I could never erase
painted colors in my heart I could never replace
Adam is right to think that discussion of phalluses is a good way to discourage Amalia from a topic, but if he thinks it will be enough to halt her teasing then he has yet to discover how stubborn she can be. "What makes a... cock... pretty?" Though her cheeks grow pink and she cannot meet his eyes there is laughter and real curiosity in her voice. Pretty penises. What an idea. The girl shakes her head.
She is noncommittal as he suggests she be a librarian again, only shrugging in response, a discontent expression on her face. But the comment on being better in the years since seventeen does catch Amalia's attention. It takes her longer than it should to do the math, her brain already a little fuzzy, but eventually she gets there. Five years ago she was seventeen, a broken thing in the depths of mourning for the dearest person in her heart, her relationship with her mother fraying, her world rapidly spiraling apart.
Is she really so much better now?
The story Adam launches into distracts from these unfortunate thoughts. Amalia listens in intent silence as her friend sheds slight light upon his past, rapt and fascinated, her dark eyes wide and empathetic as though this were the greatest tale in time. "I'm sorry," she says softly, scooting a little closer to him, consolation and open affection in the proximity as she stares up at her friend. "I think that's good, too, but... it sucks for the people left behind."
She is noncommittal as he suggests she be a librarian again, only shrugging in response, a discontent expression on her face. But the comment on being better in the years since seventeen does catch Amalia's attention. It takes her longer than it should to do the math, her brain already a little fuzzy, but eventually she gets there. Five years ago she was seventeen, a broken thing in the depths of mourning for the dearest person in her heart, her relationship with her mother fraying, her world rapidly spiraling apart.
Is she really so much better now?
The story Adam launches into distracts from these unfortunate thoughts. Amalia listens in intent silence as her friend sheds slight light upon his past, rapt and fascinated, her dark eyes wide and empathetic as though this were the greatest tale in time. "I'm sorry," she says softly, scooting a little closer to him, consolation and open affection in the proximity as she stares up at her friend. "I think that's good, too, but... it sucks for the people left behind."
meet me where the falling stars live
Amalia
