three
she sat in front of me in history class
back when we were in high school.
and when she’d lean back in her seat,
her colored hair would spill onto my desk.
it smelt like vanilla
and she smelled of expensive perfume.
she was quiet;
reserved.
a complete contradicting reflection of the girl she portrayed herself as.
YOU ARE READING
Memories of Aspen
Short Story"Because memories of Aspen were all I had left." *Spin-off to Forgetting Roman*
