thursday || clifford

[ four ]

[ four ] the black swallows will return

-

And the days pass, From Monday to Friday,

Like the swallows in the poem by Becquer,

From station to station, before our very eyes,

Here comes the silence.

-

one day turned into another, from friday to wednesday, and soon it was thursday again.

this time, michael had a plan. 

he had seen her enough to know she always held the same red covered book in her hands, reading it as she sat there, waiting to arrive at her destination.

his hand slipped into his pocket to make sure it was there, 

and it was.

a single folded piece of paper he had written on for her. he had curiously searched the title of her book back at his flat and only one poem appeared. 

his band mates found it weird that he had made it a--necessity-- to ride the train every thursday when he hadn't even met the girl and could lose her any second if she were to stop riding the train.

he watched her the entire time, eyes hopeful.

this time, he would get off one stop before hers, he was going to beat his fears and hand her the slip of paper. after all, sometimes written words were stronger than the best spoken sentence. 

"now arriving at alamo station." the automated voice announced and he shot up from his seat.

her brown eyes watched him subtly, pretending to read her book. but her eyes were undeniably trained on the punk dressed boy with dark purple colors in his hair.

conveniently for him, she was sat right by the door.

and as they opened with a whoosh, he quickly slid his hand into his pocket, pulling the neatly folded sheet of notebook paper. 

passing her nervously, he dropped the paper on her lap and without making eye contact, he left the train.

dulce stared at the folded note on her lap curiously.

might he have dropped it on accident? she asked herself.

of course not! she later concluded. it was meant for me.

picking it up in her hands slowly, she unfolded the note to see, written in sloppy lettering:

"The black swallows will return
to hang their nests on your balcony,
and once again will knock in play
against your window panes;"

it was the first stanza of her favorite poem; 'the black swallows will return', by gustavo adolfo becquer. it was also a poem in her book.

as she read on, she noticed one last sentence written at the bottom of the note.

'hi, please don't think i'm a creep, but i think you're beautiful. my name is michael.'

she smiled to herself and pulled out a pen from her bag to write out her response.

it was the fourth thursday.

-

FINALLY, SOME FORM OF CONTACT HAS BEEN MADE.

I HOPE YOU'RE ALL ENJOYING THIS CAUSE WE'RE JUST ABOUT AT THE MIDDLE OF THE STORY. IT WILL ONLY BE ABOUT TEN, MAYBE ELEVEN CHAPTERS LONG.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE SUPPORT YOU'VE GIVEN ME AND THIS BOOK.

DON'T FORGET TO READ, VOTE, COMMENT, AND ADD TO YOUR LISTS.

I LOVE YOU.

-CLARY xx