Through Your Notes

Friday

Friday

10 p.m.

  I head back to the park. I can’t head home. I don’t think I can handle it.

  I sit at my favourite bench. I look around. The park isn’t dark. It’s bright like the daylight.

  There are many people.

  I take my pencil and sketch book from my bag.

  I don’t want to sketch sceneries nor dad today.

  I’m sorry, dad. I want to make a difference.

  I look around.

  I look around to search for someone to make it to my sketch book.

  I look around.

  I look around and you catch my eyes.

  You are sitting on the staircase.

  You have dark curly hair. It falls on your forehead.

  You have a brown guitar in your hands. You have a music sheet and a pencil beside you.

  I hold my pen. I observe your features.

  I start sketching. You.