Somewhere In Brooklyn

49 - January 11

Let me tell you a story.

One lonely night in October, there was a boy—made up of untamed hair, bad decisions, and suppressed anger—who finally decided it's enough.

All the voices inside his head were consuming him and he just wanted them to stop. And he would stop them. He would drown them all along with his sorrows, ready for the hurricane to take him far away.

And just right after the moment he made up his mind, she came along.

The girl made up of childish grins, ginger hair, and eyes the colour of calming forest bumped into him. He stopped for a moment to apologize and stare, oblivious to the fact that his world was slowly taking a new route, rotating on a much lighter axis surrounded by stars and new found hope.

No, the only thing his mind could grasp on was the girl. That girl. That girl. And all night long, he thought about her—the voices, drugs, and alcohol long forgotten. You could say the girl saved him without the two of them knowing.

I've already established before that I'm a shitty storyteller, but I think it's pretty obvious who the characters are.

What I'm trying to say is that you're more than just a pretty face. You're kind and giving, and so full of hope and love. You make me feel—make my heart pounds and palms sweaty again, in a good way. You make the ice cold thaw and melt with just a slight movement of your lips.

Somebody like you could make things right for me.