Day after day I got a new poem and I kept all of them in a folder. The words are so comely -there's no other way to describe it. I want to meet this person. No, I need to meet this person. They are apart of my life now and I have to find out who this is.
Over time I fell in love with their words. I have no idea who these poems are coming from, but every time I open my locker there's another purple envelope and I'm eager to see what it says today.
Today was different, odd. For the first time in two weeks I didn't get one. I checked my locker 6 times, no letter. Did my stalker die? Are they okay? I want to know who it was so I can ask them. I want to reach out. Are they having a tough time?
The next day, I watched a girl, with platinum blonde hair, slip an envelope in my locker.
"Sylvie?" I said quietly and yet she heard me. She ran. She ran as fast as anyone I have ever seen. She seriously needs to go into the Olympics. I couldn't catch up with her. She ran into a room. I heard a loud snap and a purple flash that blinded me came from the room. I ran to the room. I opened the door and peeked inside. Sylvie had disappeared. This can only mean one thing -Sylvie is a magician.
YOU ARE READING
The Leftovers
Teen FictionI had become a leftover. I am nothing more than a plate of food he forgets about, And soon he will dispose of me. He comes to me when he is hungry for love, I feed him hoping he'll stay, But he leaves. Because that's all I am to him, Just a leftover.
