what's the drama called? the one where the ghost takes the girl jogging lol
it’s 49 days! it’s about a girl who dies too early so she’s given the chance to come back to life in 49 days if she can collect 3 tears of people who truly loved her. it’s really heartwarming and interesting!
here, have some modern non-magical flower of my heart pansy parkinson:
is an only child.
grows up somewhere warm and slow with lots of ghosts and
cypress trees and lace doilies on the dining room table.
freckles in the sun.
attends an exclusive all-girls’ prep school; doesn’t realize
until she’s much older that she hates every second of it.
teaches herself to sew after her mother dies because her
hands haven’t stopped shaking for months and sweet tea isn’t sweet anymore and
it turns out that the looming threat of accidentally stabbing herself with an
extra-sharp needle actually helps her focus.
spends what feels like half her life chasing a boy with
bright blond hair and stormy grey eyes and a family tree he can trace back to plymouth
rock. never quite catches him.
paints her bedroom walls a shadowy plum color the winter she
turns 16. rips off the scotch blue tape a little too early. stains the chair
is deathly allergic to cats.
embroiders her name in pale pink thread on the collar of the
first blouse she makes. it’s ugly and paisley and mauve and the pattern’s
abysmal but it fits her like a fucking glove.
meets daphne greengrass in sixth grade cotillion when there
aren’t enough boys to go around for ballroom dancing and they’re paired up
together to learn the steps. they never do get around to separating, and the
sight of their pastel silk skirts swirling together on the night of their debut
is positively seared into pansy’s memory.
has a marilyn monroe phase.
tie-dyes her corset-waisted alice + olive prom dress in a
baby pool in her backyard. ruins it. wears it anyway.
loses her virginity the summer she’s 17. it happens on a
ratty burgundy alabama football blanket, on the fourth of july, under a
sparkling midnight sky that’s velvet and fireworks and reflected right back at
her in the fractured emerald green of his eyes.
learns to drive in her dad’s pick-up truck. is astonishingly
good at parallel parking.
skips out on SAT prep classes to sketch evening gowns by the
river. hears the faint trickle of the water as it rushes past, peaks and foams
and valleys, but only ever sees sleek columns of persimmon coated satin and
floating fluttering waves of pearl-encrusted lace.
alternates between the same three shades of pink laura
buys her dad a new picture frame every year for his birthday.
watches, impassive, as he only ever uses them to house the one remaining photo
they keep up of her mom.
cuts her own bangs with her sewing scissors.
crosses her fingers and her heart and her ankles and applies
to parsons, fidm, scad, the new school, agonizes over the smudged charcoal
lines in her leather-bound portfolio and the yellow-tinted glare of the camera
flash on her most recent attempt at a sequined fishtail cape, but forgets all
of that—forgets everything—when she’s accepted absolutely everywhere and daphne
tugs at her uniform tie between first and second lunch and twirls her into the empty
sunlit faculty lounge and kisses her so, so gently that the only thing pansy can
think to do is shatter.