day two.

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You know, maybe one day I'll understand the reason as to why some people can get through their day completely happy, as if life is- per se- a breeze.

ON THE SWINGS IN THE PLAYGROUND, A TIME I DON'T REMEMBER:

NOTEBOOK PAGES: Rustle.

SWING: Creak.

And then another boy- Ethan- comes and sits down beside me. He's set his legs closer than most boys usually do. I don't look up at him.

ETHAN: I've seen your drawings- they're, um nice.

ME: Mmm. Thanks.

ETHAN: I do some drawing too.

ME: Cool. I don't see many people that admit that.

ETHAN: I know. It's like it's embarassing or something.

And I think for awhile.

ME: Or something.

And then we start to talk more.

--

FACEBOOK STATUS UPDATE:

Reagan Tate: what is embarassing for you?

In five minutes, I get a comment. It's from Ethan- I can tell by the name, of course, and his profile picture:

When I talk, everything comes out except for what I meant to say. It's like drowning in lukewarm water.

ME: Hm.

I pause for a second. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I think of what to reply. Then it clicks.
--

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