My mother once told me love was like August. We wait the entire year for the brilliant warmth and long evenings and when it arrives we hope it will go slowly, that the month will never end.
It was August again and I couldn't help thinking my mother was wrong. That love was more like February full of an aching longing, angry rains, and over before we could even get used to writing the new month in the corner of our diary's pages.
It was annoyingly hot that summer, not remotely brilliant. Instead it was sweltering and difficult to breathe. As if it wasn't hard enough to breathe already.
The air in the kitchen was electric and it had nothing to do with the pending summer storm.
"I think the flowers should be pink and white," said Adelaide as she stirred.
I nodded and shrugged and tried not to look in the direction of the body slumped at the kitchen table.
"Mercy, it's hot," whined Adelaide, "Open the window won't ya, Harry?"
The body at the kitchen table hopped up and propped the window behind him open.
"Thanks love," smiled Adelaide and Harry returned the smile.
Because Harry smiled now. At Adelaide, at Roy, at Pierce, at old ladies on the street, because somewhere during one of the warm, summer nights a switch flipped. No one could explain it. Maybe everyone was to scared to understand.
But maybe that was because he smiled at them.
Me, I couldn't wrap my mind around it. I wanted to corner him and ask what was up. To understand the change in personality. Especially after that letter from his sister, especially after that night on the roof. Why he smiled at strangers and why some nights I caught him outside drinking straight from the bottle.
But maybe that was because he never smiled at me. Not once.
---------------------------
Hey guys, hope you're doing well. I've put a lot of updates this week so make sure you read all of them so it makes sense and stuff
I don't ask very often but it would mean so much if you would comment and vote. Love you all!
YOU ARE READING
North Road {HS}
FanfictionHis eyes are a shade of green I can't quite put a name to. Muddy, overwhelming, pain might come close, and maybe that's why it seems so familiar. Because his arms, clad in the faded homespun my mother once made, feel like home. He's a sad, lovely s...
