Paperdoll (Haylor)

f i v e

- f i v e -

She heard the boy say something after she stated her order. And with one last smirk at her, he walked behind the brewers and began the coffee making process.

Confused as to why the boy was being so kind towards her, she shrugged it off and again focused on her writing.

As her pen silken on the black ink pressing on the paper, she felt her eyes go silk like.

Suddenly all her moments of desolation came to resurface.

Now she sat alone, amiss the small shop, mourning her dammed life which she didn't deserve.

She felt a light tap on her shoulder while she laid the tint on the journal for a last stroke.

He spoke quietly.

"Your coffee is ready."

Wiping her tears, she answered and forced a smile.

"Thank you."

For a moment, he stood by her chair after setting her white cup down on the table.

He furrowed his eyebrows gently as he heard her silent sobs.

She didn't drink her coffee, she just sat there and saw the steam vanish in the air.

He spoke up.

"Are you okay, love?"

He tried to be as delicate as possible, he knew that she was hurt. But why?

Was there another man who caused them?

She didn't respond.

Without hesitating, he took the chair right next to her, but before settling down, she interrupted.

"Please don't."

Her dry tone surprised him, how she could keep her stern voice whilst being broken down on her own was different.

"But why?"

Taylor finally looked up to meet the boy's gaze.

His eyes resembled the new leaves of a welcoming spring, clean perplexion.

His features were sturdy and sharp, the way his eyebrows stood over his eyes seemed perfectly crafted.

Lips pink, and rosy. Full and seemed caress-full.

For a moment, she had the sudden desire to reach out and trace along them with her fingers.

The boy noticed her staring and felt his heart lift slightly.

He did the same, studied her.

For the first time, he saw her completely. Without her rushing or bumping into him.

Cascades of blond strands ran down her shoulders, with surrounding soft features that intrigued him to her.

But her eyes, those blue oceans that depicted a special glow, and yet represented a wounded rose by it's own thorns.

He wanted to figure her out, find out everything there was about her.

Shaded red lips seemed untouched, cheeks willing to be cared for and tears to be vanished by his hands.

With a whisper, he questioned.

"What wonderful words do you write in that journal, do you write in it often?"

Returning back into reality, she detached her attention from his and packed her journal into her bag. And muttered her words quickly.

"Nothing, I-I'm sorry."