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Jan. 1st, 2014 08:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Title: Favorite
Rating: G
Summary: Lars comforts Summer.
Notes: So I was shelving books and I ran across this one and I got it out and read it and then this happened. I am deliberately imitating the book (that makes it a homage, right?).
she is
crying, tears coming
thick and hot
because everything
is too much
and it
hurts
so he holds her
kisses her
wrinkled forehead
and says
"tell me your favorite painting."
This is
a game
that they play
when everything
is too much.
And this is
an easy one
she can
answer
in her sleep.
"Starry Night,"
she says,
her voice
still tight
"because it
is beautiful
and calm
and blue. Tell me yours."
"Girl With a Watering Can,"
he says,
"because
it makes me think
of you."
She pushes
her face
in his chest,
huddles close.
"What is
your favorite
place to play?"
He thinks
because it's difficult
and says
"at my
childhood home
with my
brothers and sisters
at dark,"
and she nods.
She knows.
"Mine," she says,
"is on
the swings
because
I feel
like I
am flying."
"Tell me,"
he says,
brushing
another kiss
across her head,
"your favorite
flavor."
"Honey,"
she says
right away
like she
doesn't even
have to think
and maybe
she doesn’t.
"Mine,"
he whispers,
as if
telling a
big secret,
"is bread,
plain bread,
on a
spring morning
before work,"
and maybe
it is a secret;
it's okay,
she'll keep it.
Her fingers
uncurl from
his sleeve,
but do not
let go.
"What's your
favorite thing
to sing?"
"Thunderstruck,"
he says,
and she laughs,
wet
but still
a laugh.
"Because you
like the
yells," she says,
and he
laughs too.
"That exactly.
Your turn."
"Here Comes
The Sun,"
she says,
a little shyly,
and he
hums it
da da da-da
and they
sing it
walking home
hand in hand.
And I say
It's all right
Rating: G
Summary: Lars comforts Summer.
Notes: So I was shelving books and I ran across this one and I got it out and read it and then this happened. I am deliberately imitating the book (that makes it a homage, right?).
she is
crying, tears coming
thick and hot
because everything
is too much
and it
hurts
so he holds her
kisses her
wrinkled forehead
and says
"tell me your favorite painting."
This is
a game
that they play
when everything
is too much.
And this is
an easy one
she can
answer
in her sleep.
"Starry Night,"
she says,
her voice
still tight
"because it
is beautiful
and calm
and blue. Tell me yours."
"Girl With a Watering Can,"
he says,
"because
it makes me think
of you."
She pushes
her face
in his chest,
huddles close.
"What is
your favorite
place to play?"
He thinks
because it's difficult
and says
"at my
childhood home
with my
brothers and sisters
at dark,"
and she nods.
She knows.
"Mine," she says,
"is on
the swings
because
I feel
like I
am flying."
"Tell me,"
he says,
brushing
another kiss
across her head,
"your favorite
flavor."
"Honey,"
she says
right away
like she
doesn't even
have to think
and maybe
she doesn’t.
"Mine,"
he whispers,
as if
telling a
big secret,
"is bread,
plain bread,
on a
spring morning
before work,"
and maybe
it is a secret;
it's okay,
she'll keep it.
Her fingers
uncurl from
his sleeve,
but do not
let go.
"What's your
favorite thing
to sing?"
"Thunderstruck,"
he says,
and she laughs,
wet
but still
a laugh.
"Because you
like the
yells," she says,
and he
laughs too.
"That exactly.
Your turn."
"Here Comes
The Sun,"
she says,
a little shyly,
and he
hums it
da da da-da
and they
sing it
walking home
hand in hand.
And I say
It's all right