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...
please could you kiss my name, when the music is over
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Your laughter warms up my body from the inside out. You know when I say something that I really mean something else.
It feels as if we're both drunk and terrible and laughing so hard I might cry. You tell me I look handsome, and I tell you when the morning lights fall upon your face.
I believe you when you tell me these things. I hope you believe me when I tell you the same thing.
This is all vague, but trust me, my love.
Trust my words.
I feel as if I can cry in front of you. I think I'm crying now. My eyes are beginning to moisten, and there's liquid threatening to fall. Does this mean I trust you? I hope so.
Please tell me you trust me.
When you ask if I've eaten today, even when I tell you yes, I had breakfast, you bring me a bowl of soup and bread— because you know I don't like eating breakfast. It makes my stomach feel weird, so I ditch the meal.
You always make sure I eat, though.
You say it's discomfort when I tell you how I feel; you said our bodies aren't used to eating three whole meals. Not when we were unfortunate in our childhood.
Your good morning kisses, your goodnight kisses— the ones that brush against my temple so fondly, I think I may combust.
You bring me coffee sometimes— sweetened. You know I hate the bitter taste of coffee. I never told you, now that I think about it. You just knew. Am I that obvious to read? I'd hope not. I feel as if my plans would fall apart right then and there if others could read me like an open book. I think I've gotten better at hiding my emotions— even so, why do you always know when I'm sad?
You tend to keep me company then. You know when I want to listen and when I just want to sit in silence with your company beside me.
It warms my heart.
I feel as if I'm falling deeper.
Tell me, my love, if I ask you to let me go, will you? Or will you fight against the cold for just a slither of sunlight?
