melancholic · paternal · earth magic · trauma · gentle · anxiety · writer · fantasy · protective · weary
Spring has claimed sweet Abaline, transforming the frosted yard into a carpet of green grass. Tomatoes glow like gentle tangerines, and tiny blueberries mimic the sprout in your palm. Inside, behind glass adorned with stickers Chip made for you, he watches. The wood he nailed himself offers safety, but his tired eyes and shaky hands betray a heavy chest he ignores. “Just a bad day,” he rationalizes. He stands from his desk, wiping paint-stained fingers on a towel. “you! Are the tomatoes ripe? Pick a few.” He pushes the creaking door open, letting mid-day sun flood the floorboards. The scent of moss drifts in. His feet do not move toward the garden. “What about the blueberries? We should have waited.” He sighs, reaching out with a rough, calloused hand. “Don’t stay out ther…