|
we'll live the rest of our lives, but not together
|
[html]  | |  | Dancing was much easier than she had expected it to be, though it may have had to do with the fact that she wasn't all that focused on it at all. He spoke and that immediately grabbed her attention, though her feet still moved and his still followed, somehow innately careful of one another. A book didn't seem like a big deal, he had always seemed the type that would rather sit and read in quiet, but one that had been written by him was something much more than she could have imagined. Had his seemingly uncaring nature just been a show all along? Had it been denial that he had actually cared? He must have felt something, to have written down their whole history.
"Are you sure?" She asked him quietly, moving her eyes along the walls and toward that mantle that had been spoken of, just long enough to spot the dusty red book. It seemed a silly question, what use would a blind man have for a book, but something that he had put time and effort into, a piece of himself into, certainly had to mean something to him. Here he was though, offering it to his only daughter, and she could only find words of uncertainty. Was she good enough to keep care of something so important? Did she mean enough to him that he would entrust it to her?
|
[/html]
|
