He first saw me with my old plaid blue dress on with my messy pigtails blanketing over the noticeable collarbones I nearly possessed, but still flaunted. He sat in his wooden chair reading that old newspaper of his. He thought I couldn't see him catching a few glances of my legs over the newspaper, but I did, and everytime he did, he would squeeze the loud paper on its sides and later I would find wrinkles on it from when he did. I pretended not to notice, though. He rocked his wooden chair over and over, not saying a single word once. I grew impatient and would ask him questions I really didn't care about, but his voice shook with every response, nearly in tune with the rocking chair.
