Ruby

4

Her book. It was hard and a dark green. No writing or pictures on the spine or cover, just a clean green. The spine was ripping and tearing from all the times it had fallen. It was nothing you would see and take interest in, but I did. As time went on I knew that it was more than just a book. It held her worries, her fears, her expectations,the words that she was too afraid or never had enough courage to share aloud.

Inside there were short and sweet sentences scattered across its pages, squeezing in between paragraphs. some squeezed sentences like, "today there was grey clouds. It rained all day."

On the bottom of another page, in heavy black ink, she wrote, "This is not home."

A couple pages after, in a shade of red, she wondered, "How high?"

Five pages over, in blue ink, she wrote, "I'm going home."

Two pages after, in pink, she wrote, "I smiled at a boy with rosy cheeks today. He smiled back." sentences faded together and words turning more positive began to fly off the page. "hopeful" "beautiful" "hope" I could feel her energy becoming more positive. It wasn't just her words, but her eyes. They were looking more hopeful as the days went on and as our eyes met when we passed while walking to our next class or when I would glance at her from time to time during English.

But as the pages went on, it felt like her words were battling with herself; split in two. Head against Heart.

One page after held a quote, "Just because something positive isn't happening for you right now, it doesn't mean it will never happen. All good things take time." She wrote twelve words after, "If good things are coming slowly, I can be patient for them." She was beautiful; her soul was beautiful.

Her soul captured me.