“You like meadows. It’s the first thing you ever drew on me.”
“I spend a lot of time daydreaming about lying in them. Feels like it would be peaceful. I’ve developed a fondness for daises, too.”
There’s an H on the lower left corner of my stomach in thick, black cursive. It’s the only bold color on my stomach. “You signed me.”
His fingers dance across the skin beneath his initial. “How does it make you feel when you look at it?”
“Pretty,” I respond, answering honestly and feeling more vulnerable than I have before. “You always make me feel pretty.”
“You feel like that because you are pretty, Halle.”
―
Hannah Grace,
Daydream