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Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now ’tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep? —John Keats, “Ode to a Nightingale”
nice little poem:
)
from spring to summer, when gray storms turned the world green and soft.
thats the best
But she was often overlooked, as was her preference.
thats real
But she found that she liked to have the coat belted at her waist, as if it were armor.
Oath Gazette sat alight on the fifth floor, the place where she had first met Roman
ROMANNN I MISS YOU HUNNNY :(
She had reached her destination, and if it was Forest on her heels, then she would speak to him later,
Better not be him. he pisses me off right now
Iris had received no answers yet, but then again, what had she expected?
（︶︿︶）
She could still feel Roman’s breath in her hair as he held her, as if nothing would ever come between them.
this is so devastating (｡•́︿•̀｡)
“Iris, Attie. I need to speak with both of you.”
like going to the principles office
She slept but she didn’t dream. She swallowed but she couldn’t taste. She wrote three sentences and deleted two, as if she didn’t know how to move forward.
This was not the way Iris had envisioned meeting Roman’s father for the first time.
i knew he was going to find her eventually.
