We are the sun and the moon

1

I'm walking down the pavement headed towards the school. Naturally, it's my first day in a new school and everyone here is prestigious and well respected. I guarantee they all have trust funds and bank accounts full of money they have yet to earn. Obviously, I do not. My grandmother would never be able to afford this school. I actually got here because of my english teacher. She pushed me through honors classes, act tests, state tests, and dual enrollment classes. My scores awarding me with a scholarship. I write. A lot. 

My teacher would always buy me monthly journals to carry around and write in. ¨You never know when inspiration will hit¨, she would say. She had a point. As I walk down the path, I can feel the words just coming to me. I stop, take out my pen, and just write down the key words until I can go back and fit them into a work of mine. The school looks exquisite, I can tell I will be spending all my time in the library here.

All I need now is some rich guy with daddy issues, drug addictions, and an attitude problem to come bump into me so I can live out my wattpad trope. Yes, I read wattpad. I want to be a professional writer, but that doesn't come from what I read. I read all different types of books. I read stories written in poems, I read classics, the really cheap romance stories from the local dollar store, anything with words that could possibly get me away from reality for a while. There is a beauty in words digging so deep into your soul that you live within them for the next days to come. Something so pure about someone writing a character so full of flaws that you can't help but fall for them.

Sadly, the guy doesn't come. I make it to my room with my bag of clothes and books. People aren't required to bring furniture and bedding here as the school has plenty of funds to do it for you. I didn't find out until today whether I had a roommate or not. I did. She was gone when I came in so I just sat down to finish the poem I had started outside. Just as the sun was starting to set Ivy, my roommate,  had come back. She had unpacked and I could tell we were going to get on really well. She had a bag specifically for all her books. She offered me a cup of tea and we sat to watch the moon rise.

We just made small talk, but I could tell by watching her watch the moon that she was holding back from saying too much. I could tell we were thinking the same thing though. We should get on just fine.

The next day I woke up and Ivy had made us both tea and offered to walk me down to the bakery a few blocks from campus, because apparently no one from school goes and the pastries go best with her tea.  When we were walking, we weren't saying much. Just a few basic ¨What's your major?¨ ¨It's so pretty here.¨ The walk wasn't long, but the view was astounding. We looked with veneration.

Ivy was quiet, but I could tell this was because she had a very complex mind that was always going. Always in motion, alw running wild. It's fascinating to watch her think, because of how expressive she is. You can tell exactly what she's thinking and when. Or maybe that's just because we're sort of connected. Well, I think so based on what I know about her so far. My mind, just for a moment, begins to think of Ivy. Of the few things I know after a day and a half. I know the way her eyelashes graze her cheeks the way the sunlight kisses the lakes in the afternoon. Her hair hanging down the way a weeping willow flows an inch away from the ground. Her eyes the color of a lake under the moonlight. I know how her mind works. I don't think I have ever been this fascinated by the works of someone's mind. For almost two days I have been glancing at Ivy every chance I get to see- well I can't be sure what I'm looking for, but I know I haven't stopped yet.

When we walked into the bakery, it was quiet. There was a middle aged person working the register. Ivy walked right in and went to a table to sit rather than to order. I could tell with the way she sat, the way the table looked, the position, the window right next to it with little light green curtains, that she had been here a thousand times before. Probably at that same table, in the same seat. I could see us coming here together on a regular basis. The aesthetic of the bakery is something that would be perfect for my writing and reading. Maybe I won't be so interested in the library after all.