[She's quiet as she reads through it. Her first thought is that, strictly regarding technique, it's not what she expected from Alex. It does look like someone who hasn't written a lot of poetry, the vocabulary a little bit like someone might've used a thesaurus, but she'd never guess that he wasn't much of a writer.
And she'd probably have more useful input along those lines, but the further she reads the more the swell of emotion in her chest consumes her rational thoughts, and eventually she's got her bottom lip caught in her teeth so it doesn't wobble as her eyes water. She feels a little stupid, still crying like she'd never expect something like this, but— but she doesn't. So many of her friends who aren't writers have written poetry just for her, and it's—
She sniffles and holds the poem close to her chest, bowing her head so Alex can't see as the tears finally escape down her cheeks. Insistently:] This is good. It's really, really good.
no subject
And she'd probably have more useful input along those lines, but the further she reads the more the swell of emotion in her chest consumes her rational thoughts, and eventually she's got her bottom lip caught in her teeth so it doesn't wobble as her eyes water. She feels a little stupid, still crying like she'd never expect something like this, but— but she doesn't. So many of her friends who aren't writers have written poetry just for her, and it's—
She sniffles and holds the poem close to her chest, bowing her head so Alex can't see as the tears finally escape down her cheeks. Insistently:] This is good. It's really, really good.