[She takes a deep breath in. Then lets it out, slumping a little closer to him as she does.] ...Okay. I'm ready.
[So she reaches for the book. Gingerly, even though she knows she's the one who made it, because— even though she made it, it's not hers. It's Mista's. So she's careful, so careful as she opens the front cover and starts to read.
It's her own handwriting, without a doubt. It's exactly how she would say the things this says, the little note at the beginning that explains her reasoning for giving this to him.
The first poem strikes her instantly with nostalgia. Dear Sunshine. The first poem that she shared with...the Literature Club (wow, that explains a lot.) The first poem that she shared with anyone, she knows. The actual poem is cute. It makes her smile. The notes, though—
It's about that boy.
She keeps reading.
Bottles. If Dear Sunshine was happy nostalgia, Bottles is the sad kind. The melancholy in it feels like home, after you've turned all the lights off to listen to a rainstorm outside. The similarities with the poem she just shared strike her immediately, so much that she almost feels like she doesn't need to read the notes.
She does, though. And speaks again after a moment; not about the conflicted knot of feelings, or the facts she can infer from the book, or the shards of memory that still aren't entirely coming back to her, but...something she wants to know nonetheless.] Which one's your favorite?
no subject
[So she reaches for the book. Gingerly, even though she knows she's the one who made it, because— even though she made it, it's not hers. It's Mista's. So she's careful, so careful as she opens the front cover and starts to read.
It's her own handwriting, without a doubt. It's exactly how she would say the things this says, the little note at the beginning that explains her reasoning for giving this to him.
The first poem strikes her instantly with nostalgia. Dear Sunshine. The first poem that she shared with...the Literature Club (wow, that explains a lot.) The first poem that she shared with anyone, she knows. The actual poem is cute. It makes her smile. The notes, though—
It's about that boy.
She keeps reading.
Bottles. If Dear Sunshine was happy nostalgia, Bottles is the sad kind. The melancholy in it feels like home, after you've turned all the lights off to listen to a rainstorm outside. The similarities with the poem she just shared strike her immediately, so much that she almost feels like she doesn't need to read the notes.
She does, though. And speaks again after a moment; not about the conflicted knot of feelings, or the facts she can infer from the book, or the shards of memory that still aren't entirely coming back to her, but...something she wants to know nonetheless.] Which one's your favorite?