Isabelle

“Halle thinks she’s an introvert, but she isn’t. I’m an introvert. Sure, she likes doing things like reading and writing, which are solitary activities, but she’s her happiest when she’s surrounded by people. I can only imagine how difficult the past few years have been for her. Desperately craving connection only to be left alone or unappreciated by people who don’t get her.”
― Hannah Grace, Daydream

“What’re you doing?”
“I’m painting. Can I lift your shirt up?”
“You’re going to paint on my stomach?” I ask, already knowing the answer before he nods. “It’s not flat.”
“I have seen your stomach before,” he says, like I’m ridiculous for even pointing it out. “Why does that matter?”
“It’s just not toned, and I have some marks.”
“It isn’t weird to me that you have stretch marks.”
“I’m not insecure. I like my body. Other people seeing it isn’t something I’m used to, that’s all. I was just worried it wouldn’t be a good canvas.”
“You’re my perfect canvas, Halle. Every part of you. But good to both of those things. I like your body, too, and I like being the only one to see it.”
― Hannah Grace, Daydream

“You like meadows. It’s the first thing you ever drew on me.”
“I spend a lot of time daydreaming about lying in them. Feels like it would be peaceful. I’ve developed a fondness for daises, too.”
There’s an H on the lower left corner of my stomach in thick, black cursive. It’s the only bold color on my stomach. “You signed me.”
His fingers dance across the skin beneath his initial. “How does it make you feel when you look at it?”
“Pretty,” I respond, answering honestly and feeling more vulnerable than I have before. “You always make me feel pretty.”
“You feel like that because you are pretty, Halle.”
― Hannah Grace, Daydream

“For the eldest daughters in my life I see you I appreciate you and most important I love you for who you are and not what you do for everyone”
― Hannah Grace, Daydream