thirteen
The sound of footsteps, the sound of even breathing. A whisper, a touch, a smile.
I look up and he is there. His fingers touch my neck and I close my eyes. He pushes my hair back, behind my shoulders, and I let him run his fingers through my curls. It is lovely to be loved.
Birds, dark sky, rain. I am damp, my hair sticking to me like honey. His hands slip on my arm and he laughs, his fingers slipping between mine. I squeeze his hand and stare, right up, right at the dark sky. There are no stars. Not tonight.
"You're beautiful," he said.
I laughed nervously. "It's because it's dark. You can barely see me."
His knee touched mine. "I don't have to see you. I know you are."
So I kissed him. Quick, quiet, perfect.
"Do you love me?" I asked. Whispered against his lips.
"Of course," he murmured.
"Of course?"
"Of course, Sarah," he said. "It's impossible to meet you and not fall in love."
I kissed him again. His hand played with the hem of my shirt but I pushed him away. I smiled against him.
"'How beautiful at eventide'," he said and grinned. "'To see the twilight shadows so pale'."
I rested my head on his chest. "What poem is that?"
He kissed my hair. "Lucy's Song, Charles Dickens."
"I like it," I told him. "It's nice."
"Poetic brilliance," he said. His eyes were glued to the sky. "I'd like to be a poet, but I'm hopeless with words."
"You're better than me," I said.
"It's not hard, Sarah," he said in a teasing tone.
I pushed him before pulling him back to me. He kept that smile on his face and the giddy look in his eye. I stared at him for most of that night, because I had never known that someone could be that beautiful.
