Orange?” He seems unconvinced. “Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset,” I say. “At least, that’s what you told me once.” “Oh.” He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. “Thank you.” But more words tumble out. “You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.” Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry. (ic: x x x x)
You don’t get to choose.
→ War will make old bones of us all
Pushing Daisies - 1x01 “Pie-lette”
"You can’t just touch someone’s life and be done with it."
"Yes, I can. That’s how I roll."