Reprimanded Soul

Part 1

Reprimanded Soul

A reprimanded soul falls in love,
Finds at least a hand to touch,
It’s easier to not let go,
The sun shining on nothing new
Grace a tree with life,
Now the tree wants to save a soul…

                                 CHAPTER 1 [0000000000000001]
He would paint all the floors of Paris with her beautiful smile, and perhaps name all its streets after her very ancient name. It means ‘noble yield’, very original at this side of the world. The thing is, they’ve not really been in Paris- the boy and girl, however there’s a desperation pending for that destination.
It’s typical of the guy to merrily dream after meeting the girl in just a recent jiff that something might come out of this, the girl. He was going around with a dart on his faith, knotting his imagination into believing that somehow, love exists. He would to some extent expand his thoughts and create a world inside his five inches head, set up all those infinite background details; a springing tree, a bench to sit on, some spectators doing things of their own, he would mostly not miss to paint the girl and the diary she always carries along with her widespread smile.
He would imagine her sitting on a bench by the tree, having very deep conversations with whomever it pleases to be with. He himself will be crossing his legs just by the bench playing his guitar reluctantly, piercing and pressing if not beating the guitar strings which spreads along the long frets, producing some rhythm that for heaven sake is just out of this world. Focus! That’s only an imagination playing out not caring for the odds that might leave the imagination in vein.
The guy in question is a novice communicator, he is dreaming of attending lessons of how to speak to girls. As that be, nobody should blame him. If all the girls he has met before were girl enough, this innocent looking gentleman would have been an expert in getting girls to lure upon his charms. But the thing is, this girl, the one he just saw, is the first and the girl-enough girl he would be thinking of.

May god care for the bed he’s going to sleep on tonight, it’s an unpardonable fact that the bed will have a heavy night. His slumbers will carry million dreams about the girl, all weighing the pillow into some fat kilogram mass. And should that be, the bed will have less chance of not flipping him across its corners, left and right, ‘this girl is beautiful’, right and left, ‘Jesus , let me marry her’. Up and down, well, what next can this guy dream of at only the age of fifteen?
Morning wakes him up to watch a gorgeous show. It doesn’t play on TV, it plays out in the skies. By gorgeous the guy refers to the pattern denoted by the whisky stars that gave birth upon the dawn’s lighting skies. At this time of the morning, less than ten stars talk to each other, searching for the rest that went by as the sun appears by.
When the show is over, he would normally go to school, leaving his divine home to where he normally will be screwed by gigantic souls that undermines people like him. But right now, his heart is nailed on the girl that sits under that tree along the school hall.
For some time he sternly looked all around the deserted field for the walking pony, the girl with sharp eyes, a happy face and a desirable sense of humour. He couldn’t set his eyes on her, he will have to wait till the break time to have another opportunity to say something if there’s indeed a thing to say to her. 
Or wait, let’s discuss the boy’s character for a bit. When he left home, the dogs in the neighbourhood started barking. He almost slipped on his way out from the schoolbus. As that be, as it stands he had ruined two lunches for different people by crushing into their meals on his rush. Sitting on the grass by the tree, the guy’s hairs will not even be combed in any way that amuses or stimulate desire.
It’s a lot that this guy does every day that doesn’t sit well with the society, or let’s say the cool clubs. And mind you, there’s nothing that he really do to attract the dogs at the neighbourhood. And the slipping thing, it is an accidental occurrence turned into a habit. ‘I just get to be at the wrong place at the wrong time’ , he thought to himself , excusing the mess he caused for the two kids he ruined lunch for.
But here he is, stumbling in love with a stranger at the second day of school. ‘Students, PLEASE meet Tessica, our new student’ a peacock voice sounded from the doorway of the guy’s class, it was Mr Duck, looking grimy and roughed out as always. It’s what you expect of Maths teachers who spend most of their time  solving for x, an infinite variable giving humans complications as big as real life problems. 
Talking about life problems, should we classify them under nice life problems and bad life problems? Nah! , they are all similar one way or another. However, what should be bothering this little guy should be a nice life problem. It’s love after all. A choice still stands to stop pursuing this exotic girl of every guy’s dreams.