Cedar. That was her name, Cedar L. Bois. I met her 15 years ago during my vacation to La Rochelle, France. She was gorgeous, dark brown, wavy hair that stopped right below her shoulders, big hazel eyes that sparkled when the light hit them just right, slim but not too slim, her skin was fare and pale, and when she smiled her perfect smile, you could see her aborable dimples. she wasn't all that tall, 5'3 to be exact. she was kind, loving, smart, and awfully creative, in a good way. she loved children and would often talk about having a few some day.
Cedar and I met in a café. I saw she was reading one if my favourite books, The Rose That Never Blossomed. By Angelica Raylen, I approached her and we began talking about our burning passion for stories and art. We had quite a lot in common and we got a long quite well.
YOU ARE READING
Suicide, my sweetheart.
Romance*she looked at me, tears filling her eyes* "a-at least w-we tried" *she sobbed. i hugged her and rubbed her back, wanting to cry, myself.*
