Paris Wills is a dreamer. His father always said he got it from his mom, an artist who was unlike any other. Her virtue was painting, and Paris' is poetry. No matter where he is, Paris finds inspiration for his poems.
In the summer after his sophom...
With one last breath, I seal my letter into an envelope and carefully take each step downstairs in stride, reaching for the doorknob of the front door, the pale moonlight shining on my skin.
I can hear the doubts clouding my mind, telling me to close the door and turn around. This is my last chance to back out and erase Gray from my memory.
I refuse to keep listening to the doubts screaming inside me. I want Gray in my life. I need him in my life, and I can't keep getting in my own way. How can I pass up the chance of happiness waiting on the receiving end of this letter?
So, I step off the front porch, gulp back my apprehensions, and cross the cul-de-sac. All I have to do is slip this little envelope, with one word, "Gray," written on the front, into the Pierce's mailbox.
And I do.
And I close the mailbox.
And I walk back inside.
And I crawl in bed with a small ounce of hope beating in my chest.
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