“hey, anne.”
as he said this he put an new flower behind her hair; a sunset orange.
her favorite color.
just like peeta’s.
“how are you?”
“…”
that was when he took a notebook out of his bag and wrote:
can you write?
she didn’t move.
her unfocused eyes glazed over.
staring at nothing.
he leaned over and pecked her cheek and whispered,
“i love you.”
YOU ARE READING
❝hey, anne.❞
Historia Cortahe asked questions and waited for her to respond. she never did. [lowercase intended] all rights reserved.
