Live Laugh :) Love

“Hi,” he said, my dewy eyes looking into his.

“Hey,” I whispered back, my heart quickening.

“Can we talk-“

“No!” I practically screamed.

And then I ran. I ran and ran and ran. Ran from my locker which was red and covered with stickers inside, ran from the school building where I was supposed to be experiencing the best years of my life, ran from the friends that I had made, ran from him.

I ran and ran and ran. I always did. This always happened. The tears swirled from my eyes as I realized had just transpired, replaying the scene over and over as a ran past my old elementary school, the spot across the street where Harry Burden chased me to whilst trying to kiss me in the second grade, ran from the postal office where I had awaited letter after letter from my sick father and Vogue magazines. I just ran.

Finally, the pain set in and I stopped.

My legs were sore and I wanted to crawl under the dirt and sleep. But instead I sat down, put but head on my knees, and cried as I listented to the cars woosh by.

I knew this was going to happen. I knew he was going to break my heart. And I was ready, or at least I thought I had been ready.

“Yeah,so much for that plan,” I thought sarcastically.

Then I remembered the look on his face, the slight smile. And I cried again.

I heard the rain before I felt it. But I didn’t hide from it, lifting my face to the sky to clear my eyes.

Then I heard something else. Footsteps.

I stiffened slightly, nervousness swirling aound my stomach.

“Are you ok?” I opened my eyes and looked up. He had green eyes and a freckle on his left cheek. His lips formed a heart shape and he had a scar above his left eyebrow just where his brown bangs hit his forehead.

I took this all into account for two reasons. One: if he was going to try and molest me, I was going to use my great running skills, go to the police, and have one of those dectives draw out his face and two: I just like seeing, I’m a very inquisitive person.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, ready to stand up and start running again.

“No. I’m pretty sure you’re not,” and there, in the middle of the rain, in the field where I had gotten my first kiss the summer of eigth grade, he sat down. Looking into my eyes the words he said next meant so much I burst out in a fresh round of tears, “You’re not ok. Tell me what’s wrong”

God. It had been so long. Finally someone was going to ask.