Cold,
Trouble.
Warm,
Joyful.
Unlikely.
Mysteries of the boy that was cautious.
The boy that looked, small, fragile.
A porciline doll you might say.
The boy encased in the older's thoughts.
His work,
His school,
His home.
The older's thoughts always drifted to the boy.
The older not understanding why.
As the bruises and fear built in the pink haired boy's body.
Yet that smile still danced on the boy's lips, fooling the older for awhile.
The boy was a mystery,
A cute, sad mystery.
Only dependent on himself.
The older fixed himself for the boy.
Even though he was one of his scars.
The boy's depression still raging, but numbed.
The boy scratched into his desk.
Three letters that could change him life.
There is still much to this story that hasn't been told.
And all of it was because of,
Cotton Socks.
°°°°°°°°°
Dedicated to StarlightNArmy, I hope you like it. I know its probably cringy, but the book helped me so much when I'm sad. I just want you to know how much I appreciate your books and you as an author. Thank you.
