Peripeteia (per·i·pe·tei·a): [n.] a sudden reversal of fortune or change in circumstances, especially in reference to fictional narrative
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Chandler Rae Dawson is just about out of options when it comes to finding love. Dating app after dating ap...
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//JUNE 25TH 2022//
Clementine. My Clementine.
I guess that's a little presumptuous of me. She isn't mine. But god do I want her to be.
In the months before and after I met her, I've never come across anyone like her. She's bubbly yet reserved, she's smart yet humble, she's so fucking beautiful yet she doensn't even know it. She feels like home. I barely know her, and she feels more like home to me than anything else in the world ever has.
I've dreamed of this moment for months. I never thought I'd see her again, let alone be cuddled into her after a night like last.
It's about half past seven right now, the both of us just laying in bed not wanting to break out of our little bubble. I don't think she knows I'm awake yet. I woke up to her cuddled into my side. My arm around her, holding her close to me. Her leg slotted in between mine, her fingers slowly tracing my butterfly tattoo, over and over again.
I've yet to move, I haven't even opened my eyes in hopes that this moment continues on forever. But as reality sets in, I know this can't last much longer. So I open my eyes, and the sight I open them to has me breaking out into the cheesiest smile.
Adorned on her nails, as they trace my tattoo, sits the prettiest creamsicle orange nail varnish.
"I like your nail varnish." I mumble to her. Her hand freezes on my butterfly, her head whipping up to look at me.
"You're awake." She replies, completely ignoring my statement to her.
I lift my left arm up, and move it behind my head to prop me up. "And you're very observant." I smirk down at her, squeezing her a bit closer into my side. "So how long have you been painting your nails orange, Clementine?"
A slight blush covers her cheeks as she looks back down to her hands, and resumes tracing my butterfly.
"Since... since I got home." She mumbles into my chest, shyly.
She's so cute.
I feel my smirk turn into a full grin at her words. To think that me and my nickname for her has been in the back of her head enough that she has been coloring her nails orange as a reminder.
"Well , I like it." I remove my arm from behind my head, grabbing the hand of hers that was tracing the tattoo. I press my fingertips to hers, playing with the size difference between our hands. Her delicate little hand pressed up against my large one.
Our hands continue to play with each other as we speak.
"You know I've been thinking a lot this morning." She starts off, taking a moment to breathe as I give a hum in response to let her know I'm listening. "I can't marry him." My hand freezes against hers at her words.
"Harry?" She looks up to me, and it's then when I realize I literally stopped breathing at her statement. I let out a long breath and inhaled again.
"Sorry... you were saying?" She continues to stare for a moment before turning her head back down and starting up the movement of our hands once again.
