He was fairly certain he imagined the whisper, the faint noise surely a figment of his imagination. He was in a world of his own - a deep daydream - with a melody running through his head and his eyes fixed in front of him, watching his pointer finger chip away at the yellow polish on his thumbnail.
If I were a bluebird… I would fly…
The words had been taunting him for days. But when nothing else came, he sang them to the same melody over and over again. The lyric felt light… hopeful… but it was almost as if he was stuck, like gravity was holding him back from adding anything else. And somehow the weight that constantly pressed down on his shoulders got heavier.
OKAY YALL. Anne is a wordsmith. Truly the type of writer who immerses a reader in the world of the story, stringing words together in a way that always leaves me reading with my jaw on the floor. So excited to read this story!!!!!! Anne pls add me to the tag list lmao
