Eren Yeager had always been a child. From birth to the day he died. He lived with a selfish, childish dream to find freedom. Yet, freedom was a manifestation of his innate desire to fill the boredom swallowing him whole. It killed him.
But before t...
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You wrapped a scarf around me today.
It wasn't particularly cold. Just a little shiver, and you went inside and retrieved a scarf. It's laying on my shoulders now— as I write.
It's very beautiful.
The scarf and your smell.
I can smell you on it. You smell like the sky. I wouldn't be able to explain it if you asked. But you do. Smell like the sky, that is. It's fresh, serene even. I wonder if that's why the birds enjoy your company. You smell like the same thing they adore soaring through.
I never want to take it off.
The weathered green sits along my skin like a blanket. It's torn at the edges; I'm pretty sure there's a hole as big as my thumb towards the middle. Did you make it? You don't look very good with your fingers. When you talk, you have this thing where you wave your arms in an exaggerated manner and fiddle with your fingers. You're insecure about your hands— that I've noticed. You hide them around your back when you're standing in front of me, and you clutch them to your chest when your back is facing me. There are scars on them.
I think you did make this.
It's very beautiful.
Your scars and the scarf.
I understand now why Mikasa never took off the one I gave her. It's like a blanket of security I never once had. Not after I lost it all.
Thank you.
I don't have the guts to say that out loud. It's childish, I know. But you make me feel weird.
