Henry's dried daffodils are so fragile now. I'm afraid of opening my bedroom window, the winds from outside would blow the petals off one by one.
He loves me, he loves me not. I sleep on top of the covers in my underwear but still wake up with a thin layer of sweat covering my skin. Since May I've been longing for the fall and I think it's close now.
Chloe contacted her father, he agreed to meet her later this week. I can see what it does to her but at least she's dealing with her ghosts. I dreamed about mine, that she was on her way back to America from her summer escape overseas. When I woke up I saw that she's already here, calling out to me in silence from across the wasteland.
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