twenty august
eleven : forty-two p.m.

there is something comforting and yet extremely eerie about having someone be dependent upon you.

"i don't want to be here anymore," he said.

"where do you want to be?"

"with you. i wish i would stop thinking about the stupid hill, and the autumn, and stars, and breeze. i just want to be with you."

"you will be."

"i just want to be with you."