His name is Jamesom, and two years ago, he moved to France. But now he's back and his eyes glow a deep reddish-brown.
"There he is," Zoe tosses a handful of pink and purple hair, trying to appear flirty.
For some odd reason, he seems to be looking at you.
_______________________________
Her name is Courtney, and she and Winnie are in second grade when they lock pinkies and swear to be friends for forever and a day.
"I'm gonna call you Pooh Bear!" The brunette laughs, hanging upside down on the monkey bars.
"Okay, Piglet!" The blonde grins, so happy to finally have a best friend that isn't her big sister.
______________________
You're paired up for a poetry project in English class, when Zoe has first period Spanish and Toby skips class to hang out in the art room. He doesn't say much at first, just observes you as you start to write.
Downtown, the lungs of this forsaken city, stealing the oxygen of so many who visit
My melancholy freedom echoed off the bridges and dew drops that were divine enough to grace this ground
Broken shackles flowed from my pen and shambles escaped my lips
This city operated as a double-ended sword, a distraction and a reminder of past floods
Something about the way the gentle raindrops sprayed my cheeks and washed away undeserved tears made my logic cave
A neon message, brightening the stars, coast to coast
The heaviest hello I'd ever heard
"Is this weird?" "No."
It was nonsensical, to say the least
Creatures of habit never learn and the suffering becomes obstructed by a glass wall of glee
Foolish people let consequences fly away from their minds like seagulls gliding on the wind
If our aesthetics fit like puzzle pieces, why don't we?
Art feels hollow
Music is white noise
All I could do was embrace the rain and let the spray bead into drops and roll down my bones
"I like it," he smiles at you, and you can't help but blush.
He's cute, and he's broken, and you thin you're made for each other.
(You're not.)
_________________________________
"Courtney," the blonde's voice is small, "who are they?"
They cluster together, even now. They travel in packs, like bloodthirsty hyenas.
"Just Cecelia and her clique, Winnie," but the brunette isn't looking at her best friend, her eyes are on the group of girls and boys who might as well be sitting on a cloud, "ignore them."
She doesn't know better (she never knows better), so she lets it be.
Because they're best friends.
Right?
_______________________________
He asked you out.
He's cute, and he's broken, and you think you're made for each other.
(You're not.)
_______________________________
"Courtney?"
She's young and silly, she has choppy bangs and braces, and her best friend's a mature knockout.
YOU ARE READING
s h e
RomanceYou're purple. A mixture of fire truck red- bright, bold, and demanding- and royal blue- serene and smooth. You're purple, a mixture of good and bad. Purple for your inner sass queen. You're beautiful and you're not afraid to own it (though sometime...
