A boy is standing on the beach. He has delicate fawn hair that cascades over his eyes, laying down a blanket of mystery over them. He's tall and slender, voicing silent anger from the tensing of his shoulders. His form is frigid but weakened, I can tell by the way he's holding himself; as if he would crumble at the slightest loss of strain. I know that look. I've felt it.
Clenched in tight grasp, his fists make his arms tremble at the sheer force of his grip. 'He's far away, god he must be shaking so much' I think out-loud.
For a moment there I forget where I am, staring at the stranger... I look down at my right hand, fingers drilled tight into the soil, grass bent and broken because of it. Taking my hand from my shirt I realise that there's blood under my nails, I must've been holding on so tight that I broke the skin, as well as the grass. I hang onto the thought for awhile. Until I notice the boy again.
He's looking right at me. For a moment I'm startled, still on my knees I'm frozen. I don't want to look away, mesmerised by his gaze. My heart beats faster because I notice something else.
The boy.
He's crying.
YOU ARE READING
Tired and almost over (Ongoing)
RomanceOne day at a time isn't enough. I'm Em and this is my first story, please feel free to comment (or message!) me any suggestions, it would be a big help! You can message me about ideas for the rest of the story or just to say hi! Always up for makin...
