The crowds in my heart,
They've been calling out your name.
-Kodaline, Talk.
11:45 AM, History class- Declan's poem.
'Describe her,' they asked, smiling to themselves.
'She was a story,' said I. 'Unlike the others on the shelves.
She was a storm in a dress, a whirlwind in disguise,
There was music in her soul, there was dancing in her eyes.
She had spots on her cheeks , much like stars in the night.
To love her felt like doing everything right.
Her silence was torture, a darkness so complete,
The sound of her voice, brightened any white sheet.
Did I mention, dear brothers, how like a storm was she?
My heart hasn't recovered- it beats too recklessly.
I should have stayed away from her, I should have turned away,
For have you ever heard of a whirlwind, a whirlwind that has stayed?
~
June tapped his shoulders softly.
He tore his eyes away from his work and looked up at her.
She was looking at his scribbled sheet of paper with curiosity. They were in History class, and Declan never took notes. Nobody did. Then what was he writing?
She lifted an eyebrow. 'What are you doing?'
He smiled at her and winked. 'Wouldn't you like to know.'
She rolled her eyes and looked away, a silent grin gracing her face, as he folded his poem and slipped it into his pocket.
She did not need to know.
Writing poems was not manly.
She definitely did not need to know.
As he playfully bumped his shoulders with her, he turned to face the teacher again.
YOU ARE READING
June.
Short Story[COMPLETED] Dear June, Deep breaths. Count to ten. Take a step. Take another step. You can do this. You've got this. Just breathe. What happened to you? Was it the pressure? Was it the depression? Was it the loneliness? What was it? Do you know, or...
