indie » styles

sixth

day the twentieth

Wren sat on the grassy hill, legs crossed and fingers toying with a yellow dandelion. 

Wren kept thinking about the beautiful blonde that made Harry smile. Of course, everything made Harry smile. Even she made him smile. But this smile was different. It was a smile of true adoration; a smile Wren had never received.  She let out a sigh and flopped down. It was the lovely kind of day where the warmth of the sun hit your face just right and everything felt okay. The clicks and calls of summer nature echoed through her ears, eyes closed so every other sensation was heightened. 

"Is this seat taken?" The familiar voice made Wren's heart speed and a smile to tug on her lips.

She sat up and saw his face above her. There it was, that smile. 

"Of course not," Wren responded. Harry took a seat beside her, kicking off his flip flops and digging his bare feet into the grass.

"I love sautumn." He mumbled, throwing his head up to the sky. Wren looked at the contempt grin on his face and the dappled sunlight hitting his perfect skin. This moment was a perfectly wrapped gift that she couldn't wait to open again and again in her mind.

"Sautumn?" she questioned. Harry chuckled, turning to look at her with a lopsided smile.

"The gap between the summer and fall seasons. Fall is much too depressing as everything dies and summer is just unbearably hot.  The transition between the two is perfect, don't you think?" He looked at her with such pure joy. With innocence, like a child. Wren could get lost in his green eyes, no matter how corny it sounded. She loved it when he talked to her, when he looked at her, when he was with her.

Wren had known Harry for a month, but it felt like years from the way she felt about him.

"Wren?" His voice caused the spell to break and she felt her cheeks flush.

"Sorry, uh yeah, that's a cool season. what's it called again?" Wren sputtered.

"Call it a chicken salad." Harry laughed. "It doesn't matter what it's called. The only thing that's important, is how it makes you feel. We as humans always search for words to describe things that are simply indescribable. If we leave things for what they are and appreciate them, we would be much happier. No need to fill the silence with useless noise to explain the unexplainable."

She looked at him for a heartbeat, then toward the sky in bewilderment and awe. He was just so perfect. Did he even realize it?

"Wow." Is all she could manage to say.

"Sorry, I must be boring you with my rubbish talk about the great unknown." Harry scoffed, shaking the grass out of his curls and sitting up. "Could you tell I studied English in uni?"

Wren parted her lips to assure him he was not boring her in the least, but he spoke before she can intervene.

"You enjoy films?" He asked her, pulling off the pair of sunglasses that hung from his v-necked t-shirt and slide them on. She couldn't help but notice they were completely different than the pair he wore the day she saw him.

Was it strange that he owned two pairs of sunglasses, or that she noticed the difference?

Perhaps both or perhaps neither.

"Doesn't everyone enjoy films to some extent? It's just a matter of what genre they prefer." Wren finally answered.

"Ah, that's where you're wrong. There are indeed people who do not enjoy films." Harry laughed. Before she could ask if he knew anyone of that sort, he continued. "But okay, let me elaborate then. What genre of film do you enjoy?"

Wren thought about it for a moment. "You know those really depressing independent films that are bleak, sad and always end in misery? Usually the death of a strained relationship or a realization of one's life falling apart?"

He looked at her in surprise, his sunglasses dropping to the edge of his nose and exposing the tops of his eyes. "Pardon?"

"I can't explain it." Wren began to feel uncomfortable as she fiddled with the hem of her dress. "They just feel so real. Not everything is going to turn out okay. Usually, the endings are inconspicuous and you aren't quite sure what will happen. But you know it probably won't be good."

"Wow." He said, mimicking her own reaction to his longwinded explanation before.

"Is that weird?" She pressed, looking at a ladybug crawling up a blade of grass to avoid looking at the beautiful boy next to her.

"I'm not quite sure. I know most people watch movies to escape reality. They don't want a film that will show them their toxic relationship will most likely end instead of their partner coming to their senses and holding a boombox outside their window. We want to have faith, we want to believe in love and that we'll get what we want." 

"I believe that as well," Wren said simply.

"Hm, so you're a romantic who loves movies of misery." Harry pursed his lips together. "Interesting."

"It's rather hard to explain. I think the classic romantic films give you a false sense of hope. Love isn't hopeless by any means, but wouldn't you rather lower your expectations than heighten them? I'm sorry I can't tell you why I enjoy them. It's just one of those things." She shrugged her shoulders as Harry continued to stare with an unchanging expression.

"It's just unexplainable." He finally spoke.

"Right," Wren answered. 

A smile stretched across his face. "That is just so indie."

**

i wrote this whole chapter sitting on a grassy hill, watching people socialize and engage in meaningful activities, while i sit here like an idiot waiting for my movie screen dream boy.

update from joy in 2020: i found a perfect boy and he broke my heart after two years so love is a lie and nothing you do is enough. lol bye. wish i was young and naive having never been in love teehee.