[ and there it is, as if she hadn't lost him, as if she never had the need to come to terms with his death. for a moment, thalia thinks she's hallucinating or day dreaming. there are days when she thinks she has seen luke in someone else's face, in reflections on windows, tucked somewhere among the trees.
it's never him. thalia stopped looking.
the delay, though it seems like hours in her head, only takes a few seconds and she considers responding to him emphatically, allowing the emotions that float to the surface to get the better of her. crying in front of people is something she hates doing and she won't start now.
there's a flicker of recognition when she links a finger through the belt loop of her black shorts, the popcicle stick still in her hand. the ice hasn't begun to drip down her arm just yet. ]
Haven't seen him. You probably got the wrong house.
no subject
it's never him. thalia stopped looking.
the delay, though it seems like hours in her head, only takes a few seconds and she considers responding to him emphatically, allowing the emotions that float to the surface to get the better of her. crying in front of people is something she hates doing and she won't start now.
there's a flicker of recognition when she links a finger through the belt loop of her black shorts, the popcicle stick still in her hand. the ice hasn't begun to drip down her arm just yet. ]
Haven't seen him. You probably got the wrong house.