The laugh takes him by surprise, like he’s said something funny. She’s laughing with him, not at him, not cruelly, but in appreciation. He’s gotten used to those kinds of laughs, and if he’s honest, he doesn’t know what to do with them. They primp his ego and make him feel a little better about what he has to say, but that’s dangerous.
❛Maggie’s a smart girl, I trust she knows what she’s talkin’ about.❜ And that’s more words than he’s likely said to her this month; yes, no, they didn’t count. Daryl drew this back to himself, hand fidgeting with a wrench. ❛Birds don’t give a shit if people throw rocks at them for singing. They just keep on.❜ That was his grand piece of advice.
❛ —— yeah, that always kinda annoyed me. ❜
her words had no malicious intention, rather a simple reflection. it was strange,
how casually the words came to her, as if they were still two bickering sisters
back on the farm. there’s a trace of a smile on her lips, a warm glow as she
bathed in nostalgia. if only her problems were still as simple as wanting to be
like her big sister ---- something she still wanted to be, if she’s honest.
maggie was a survivor; she always had been. beth just didn’t know if she had
the same fire as her, no matter how desperately she tried to ignite it.
his next statement pulls the blonde from her thoughts , eyebrows rising as her
gaze transfers from the grass to the grease monkey. there was something so
poetic in his casual effort, a depth in his words in which she could swim.
they just keep on. maybe she wasn’t forged in fire at all; maybe she had
wings, able to fly away and start anew when she was burned.
not a song bird, a phoenix. rising from the ashes.
❛ it’d be nice to be a bird, wouldn’t it? they don’t know what’s goin’ on. they’re just... livin’. ❜
