𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐚

1 ; début

7th of September, 2018
Xavier Robson

Dear Amaya,

It's been a while since I've talked to you, I honestly did love you with every part of my heart and the moment you stepped out of my life an ache that never ends. I'm thinking of you all day, every day wondering what it would be like if you were still here beside me, conquering the world one by one.

I do smile at the thought.

I want to write to you to talk about things, mum says I'm keeping things but if I write them down and never read them again I'm not really keeping them, am I?

I'd always planned to write to you Amaya however I never thought the day I started writing would be about a boy, frosted blonde tips and the richest yet baby blue eyes that made me think he secretly was Jack Frost, placing a layer of frost on the window sills and along the grass blades.

I think he's new but I hadn't payed enough attention to know... until we bumped in the corridor.

I had been holding this journal, my art folder and my new book on the fashion within France. It was my dream to be there but still while I faced the pity little school in Virginia I had to make it something achievable, even if it was only a drawing in art class. It was like the classic movie scene where they crash, touch each other's hands before looking into each other's eyes and blushing madly. I never really had felt a connection but I think the wanting to be cliche made me believe that a spark had been ignited at our fingertips. He's starting apologising nonstop while I just nearly smiled slightly at his clumsiness and kindness.

I don't smile at school.

He was bright red by the time he'd collected my books, he first complimented me on the loose sheets that had slipped from my art portfolio, then moving to the little journal I'm writing in now as it's dark navy cover are beautiful with moon and star imprints before slowly changing the subject to the French book I forgot I had with me.

" Do you do French? " He asked, I just shook my head telling the truth.

" Just a dream destination? " He asked next which I just nodded my head before blurting out

" Tu as de beaux yeux " which he plainly looked at me in confusion as I held my shock out that I'd just complimented a stranger in French, you have beautiful eyes, who even am I?

" Oh? Um " and with that I had sped down the hallways, embarrassed as hell and silently laughing internally as I made it to the art wing sliding into the empty classroom, it was a spare and I decided to keep going on my project, you know how I am, I get so devoted to my passions.

I had calmly started sketching things inspired by the French book including a woman eating a croissant on a mint green table with a black and white stripped shirt and red beret, how stereotypical.

THEN the boy entered the darkish room with a smirk on his face and I felt my cheeks heat up instantly even though he had no idea about what I'd said, or so I thought.

Amaya. I've never been so amused and shocked and all full of interesting emotions till this one day, in the first week of school.

He opened his mouth and stuttered, quite cutely,

" merci, vous êtes très belle vous-même " and that's when my jaw dropped. He chuckled lightly at me after he'd just calmly said thank you, you are very gorgeous yourself. Reaching over the table where he sat opposite me, he gestured for a handshake.

" Corbyn. I don't do French but I have an echoic memory. "

" Xavier... " we talked for a while, maybe the whole period, it was nice but nothing lasts. As the bell rang he slide his number over on a corner of scrap paper and smiled before dashing off

while I just stood their lost.