a m a l t h e a
he worries his bottom lip as his steady-artist hand sketches mindless stars, comets, asteroids, planets, supernovas, black holes.
i pause from sipping my tea and watch as he does so, my gaze lingering on the boy with the golden heart, frigid hands and sky-blue eyes as he maps out the universe caught in his mind the flimsy pages of his sketchbook.
i watch as he runs a hand over his neck before he sighs in frustration and stands up, a brewing storm trapped inside his body.
and i watch from afar as he shoves the journal into his bag and slings it over his shoulder.
i watch as the golden boy left the diner by the seaside with the universe trapped in his eyes.