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When everything went to hell, at least she could always count on scones.
She loved him like the winter, resolute and all-consuming. Loved him with summer’s steadiness, and with the ferocity of nature itself.
She didn’t care to be a sunflower, unfurling her petals in the daylight for all to see. She would rather be an adorable little mushroom, thriving in the dark crevices where few ventured to look.
“Can’t?” he echoed. “Or you won’t? When you look at me, do you truly feel nothing?” It was a question made to break a person,
