28. sending notes

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26/11/22

mike

just like every single damn day i walk out of the school bus, i sit in class and i get through the day.

just an endless cycle, but now along with endless teasing. I mean when i rushed and told will i liked him i obviously wanted to say it was a joke when he showed any signs of hesitation.

which he did, but i couldn't seem to turn away.

maybe it was something about me drinking 7 coffees but i don't think that's it to be honest.

i mean as i said it's like im living the same day every day nothing changes unless i do something impulsive and weird.

i open my locker and a note falls out, weird i don't remember putting any loose papers in here, yet again i don't remember anything.

i squatted down retrieving it and stood up straight again, i opened the paper as i got faced with a familar sense of nostalgia.

i squatted down retrieving it and stood up straight again, i opened the paper as i got faced with a familar sense of nostalgia

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i stared at the piece of paper as i felt it look back at me, maybe this was some fairytale parallel and he was waiting at the garden for me.

maybe it was a fairytale.

i stuffed the paper in my pocket and locked my locker pushing through the hallways, just hoping i can see him before it's too late.

i arrived at the back of the school to disapointment, yeah it was definitely not a fairytale.

the garden gate was locked, i looked up at the sign displayed.

'closed today from 1pm to 7 am the next day'

oh so maybe it wasn't a fairytale and a miracle wouldn't happen, i mean the sign is handwritten.

obviously in wills handwriting.

i turned back walking down, taking out the note staring at the words, repeating it again and again.

'im so sorry'

why is he sorry im the one made him uncomfortable,

walking down the corridor i bumped straight into someone, as their books dropped to the ground. they just stayed frozen standin up.

weird usually people actually pick up what they dropped. i collected the books from the floor and stood back up handing it.

i looked up to their face,

𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 ; bylerWhere stories live. Discover now