A Girl Like Her

Chapter 12:

I know it's been so long I apologize! Life and writer's block got in the way. But fear not! I have the next few chapters planned and I have no idea when I'll update again but I hope it won't be as long as last time took. Hope you enjoy for the few who are still reading! 

Song: Be Alright by Dean Lewis 

"Innocence, once lost, can never be regained. Darkness once gazed upon, can never be lost" ~ John Milton 

NOT EDITED

Sorting out my emotions properly never was one of my strong suits. Meticulously picking out each individual feeling in order to correspond it to the right word was by far one of the most difficult tasks I've ever done. But I learned through time that once I got my thoughts together and the words began to flow through my mind and out onto the screen in front of me, the task was substantially less difficult.

It's how I felt with every writing assignment ever given to me. The assignment didn't need to be perfect. It just needed to incorporate feeling. Words that made a person feel envious, or anger, or sadness. An emotional tie needed to be attached between the writer and the writer's words. Otherwise, what was the point of writing it to begin with?

I used to hate English. I despised reading and anything that had to do with my creativity being put to the test. Now, I love it. I love the challenge. The effort I put into my works. The pride I feel after each conclusion of a piece.

That exact pride is what I felt as soon as I finished my writing assignment for Mrs. Gale. Our biggest fear. It was like a weight was lifted from my shoulders as I wrote my piece. Yet, reluctance weighed me back down. This piece was vulnerable. Personal. This piece was me. A part of me held onto the assignment as I turned it in the next day. Panic rising and bubbling in my stomach.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Maybe I shouldn't have written a piece that held so much into it. A piece that was so emotional filled with my most personal fears and accounts of life.

No, no it was alright. It's too late. It's written. Turned in. Too late. Maybe she won't catch on. After all, what are the chances she actually understands what my story really even means? She won't be able to infer it. She won't catch on. She can't. She won't.

"Layla wait!" I was awakened from my thoughts by none other than Zander's booming voice. I turned my head to see him making his way hastily over to me. Determination in his eyes and a goal in his steps, he stopped just a few inches from me. His hands clamped around paper, hundreds of words typed onto the white pristine pages.

"What?" His eyes caught my own captive. A type of fierceness I wasn't all that accustomed too swam in the depths of his honey-glazed eyes. I almost forgot where we were. Why was it so easy to get sucked under the spell that was Zander Collins? "I wanted you to read my paper before I turned it in. You inspired me, I think it's only fair. Plus, even though I can't make any fixes now, I just want you to read it." He handed the stapled pieces of paper to me. My own hands took ahold of his story, our hands brushing ever so slightly together. His hands were so warm. He seemed nervous. Well, I would be nervous too if I was asking someone else to read my story.

It was an invitation to another person's soul. Their creativity, their perspective. It was reading through the words of their opinions and values and morals. It was witnessing and watching a picture in your head of characters and sentences being structured accordingly. Reading a piece of writing was personal. And Zander wanted me to read his. I suppose I should've remembered, concerning Kate told me about it just the other day. Somehow it slipped my mind. There's been a lot on my mind lately. Too much on my mind.