dear north,
before i met you, my days of lying in bed, staring at the white ceiling were countless. i usually stay past four in the morning and i wait for the sun to greet me, just to have little sunshine in my life. my life was bare and desolated for three years. i remember living in cold greyscale. i told lrs once or twice about this and most of the time i wanted to be sucked into space then disappear. my friends wanted me to escape my depression but none of them knew the escape route.
then you came. we talked only a few times in junior year, we barely knew each other; i didn't know what could go so right until senior year.
i remember the first time i talked to you, we were seated in our engagement class when i asked, "hey, are you tall?" i was impolite and blunt in every way possible but you couldn't care less, we knew nothing about each other.
do you remember, north? senior year lunch breaks consisted of us discussing about tarot reading and MBTI personalities. have you ever noticed the way i was around you? surprisingly i was either laughing or blushing.
all the while you and your friends teased me and rooted for you, for me it had been a year of improper and reckless sleep cycle and a ten percent out of a hundred percent interest in you. i'm sorry but no one nor anything had more than my tens.
YOU ARE READING
kalopsia
Poetry[ka-lop-se-a] Greek (n.) the delusion of things being more beautiful than they really are.
