maybe i’m a goddamn bleeding heart hippie liberal but i’m totally down with paying an extra .50 cents for a thing of fries if the person who makes me those fries doesn’t have to work 3 jobs just to survive.
Basically I wrote one of those long tweets to Patrick and he direct messaged me and gave me all this advice and made my night. He literally the nicest man I have ever known.
I love Patrick so much.
Peeta crouches down on the other side of her and strokes her hair. When he begins to speak in a soft voice, it seems almost nonsensical, but the words aren’t for me. “With my paint box at home, I can make every color imaginable. Pink. As pale as a baby’s skin. Or as deep as rhubarb. Green like spring grass. Blue that shimmers like ice on water.”
The morphling stares into Peeta’s eyes, hanging on to his words.
"One time, I spent three days mixing paint until I found the right shade for sunlight on white fur. You see, I kept thinking it was yellow, but it was much more than that. Layers of all sorts of color. One by one," says Peeta.
The morphling’s breathing is slowing into shallow catch-breaths. Her free hand dabbles in the blood on her chest, making the tiny swirling motions she so loved to paint with.
"I haven’t figured out a rainbow yet. They come so quickly and leave so soon. I never have enough time to capture them. Just a bit of blue here or purple there. And then they fade away again. Back into the air," says Peeta.
Head’s a bit weird. There’s loads of stuff I can’t quite … Remember.
Let’s Play collage!
just coast with me