the summer i turned beautiful [l.t]

Chapter 10 -- Shakespeare's Long Lost Son

Hi! It's me again! This is a short chapter and on Saturday morning I will be leaving for holiday and I wouldn't be able to post for 1 week. No Wifi! Of course, I will have my laptop with me, so I can write while my spare time (aka when the cruise is moving). This is a "blah" chapter, again, with my attempt of being 'romantic' by channeling my inner William Shakespeare!

Gah! I'm gonna miss you guys! So much!

Why don't you comment or like??? 

I'll post extra chapters (thats a plus, right?) starting tomorrow and hopefully (if I don't forget and before I leave) Saturday will be my last day (for a week) for posting.

Thanks for baring with me, babes!

--Shirls

Chapter 10

            I went to sleep at 2 in the morning last night. I had absolutely no sleep at all. A few times, I started to play the guitar and just plain practice Look After You again. I do that too much. I thought about how I have no one. How much I missed Mum. How much I wanted to call her and just hear her voice. She would talk about how her nail polish line for her company is doing. We would talk boys, dreams, and just how much we miss each other. But then I thought about Louis and how isn’t that badass guy from boy bands. He wrote poetry for crying out loud. He could be absolutely disgusting and a pervert. But he could be genuinely caring at times.

I walked out my door, there were cookies and milk left on the table in foyer. I took them because hey, I was pretty hungry. As I walked back to my room was a mouthful of cookies in my mouth, he tiptoes lightly out of his door, carefully closing his door, and so we won’t “wake” me up.

“Uhh…hey.” I said with my mouthful of cookies and milk, “Thanks for the cookies and milk.”

“You’re welcome, love.” He smiled and winked at me.

“Hey, do you have some paper? I really need some pages. I need to write some ideas down.”

“Uhh…sure. In my room on the table. Um I’ll be back. Just need to talk to Liam, he just called me over.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I walked into his room. I was a bit cleaned up. His clothes were folded, but his bed wasn’t made. I walked to his table where his table was. I once again noticed his “poem book” as I would call it. Being as nosy as ever, I flipped open to the page I was reading and continued:

“As if I could just have one kiss. Her soft lips against mine. Her hands lingered to my hair, catching the knots. My hand solemnly on her thin waist, tracing her spine, up and down. The way she held on to my arm as we walked gracefully into the crowd.” This part was newly written, I knew it because the ink wasn’t dry yet, “Just the look of her luscious hair, down to her waist, is like an angel. Strumming the stringed instrument . This night. Her every move is subtle, but she doesn’t know I’m listening. The sound of her voice, the texture, how smooth and free-willed she be. If only…”

No words can describe this. I quickly grabbed the paper and flew out of the room and locked myself in my room. Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. Block. Block. Block. I wrote five pages of poems and fell asleep.