She looks up, across the street. She smiles, lifts her hand and waves. The bus speeds past and for the first time it doesn't stop in front of the grey house. As it leaves, she watches it and turns back to the house across the street, the peeling paint, the shutters closed over the windows. She waits for the door to open. She knows it won't, but waiting makes her feel better. Her name is said from behind her and she turns, box in hand, placing it in the trunk and closing it.
"You ready to go?"
YOU ARE READING
highlighters and candy erasers
Poetry"not everybody just gets to blurt out how they fucken feel every minute" (I'm trying to be an angsty Tumblr teen) **I wrote most of these when I was like 15 so it's super dramatic**
