A love poem of longing, inspired by [x].
A box of sand from Monterey.
A handful of leaves from Japan, ground to pieces at the bottom of an envelope marked fragile.
Title borrowed with love from Jane Eyre. Wrote this just for myself, because the first line grabbed me, and I kinda feel like that’s the best reason, these days.
Most people wonder is there anything more? But Stiles knows the answer: there is. And he can’t pretend he’s ok with normal life anymore.