i could never remember what colour your eyes were.
when ours met across scribbled on tables and crumpled pieces of note paper, you'd immediately turn away as though you'd felt the scalding heat in my cheeks.
your nose turned red, not your cheeks. sometimes fingers would brush while handing out worksheets, fleeting moments that were taken away as quickly ad they'd arrived.
brown, right? the fresh brown of watered soil that would sprout in march. your eyes were brown.
YOU ARE READING
the flower thief
Short Storyi knew a boy who plucked wildflowers off lonely roads. i knew a boy who's smile woke the bitter slumber in my head. i knew a boy who made my blood rush in feral symphonies. i knew a boy who stole my heart the same way he stole flowers.
