Love From Afar

Part 5- Soul

The girl's nose is in a book again. It's some sort of classic. Don't ask me which one. I just know that the girl has been reading a lot of classic books lately. I guess she ran out of fantasy and sci-fi books. She reads like other people eat, or breathe. She can't live without words. Even when she isn't reading, she is normally writing in the old leather notebook that she carries everywhere. I wonder what's inside that notebook. I bet that if I can get it, I will have a piece of her soul. Her soul must smell like she does: old paper and wild roses and dew drops in the spring. I know the girl's scent even better than I know my own. I wish I could just gaze at her creamy peach skin and smell her scent, the scent of libraries and flowers and so much more. And I wish that I could hold her tight and never let go. We could go to one of her favorite places, like the library, or the ice cream parlor by her house. And I could read from her journal and own a piece of her soul. We could sit in her blue bedroom, her bedroom with the walls filled with the photographs that's she's taken of trees and sunsets and flowers, bikes and rain and sunshine on leaves. On her rustic white four poster bed, next to the pile of old gaming consoles and her desk with her laptop and her bookshelf with all her books. Her bedroom might be my favorite place in the world, because it is her favorite place in the world. That, and the library, and the ice cream parlor. I know so much about the girl that she has almost become a part of me.