It is six in the morning on a Sunday; he’s hungry, sort of tired, and shit is it cold. But that doesn’t stop him from sitting on that stone-cold bench to meet the girl who he’s sure is the love of his life. Even if he wanted to, he can’t make himself leave though it starts to drizzle and that he knows that not a soul was sane enough to be up at six on a Sunday just to wait for a girl who mightn’t even come.
And yet there he is, freezing his ass off like an idiot.
But she’s going to show, he tells himself. She is. And he is finally going to hold her hand and kiss her when the sun comes up, feeling her smile and melt into him as the wind blows her hair around them. Her ink-stained fingers would brush it back and he’d take that hand, too, feeling her small hands disappear in his big ones; they’d bicker while grinning like idiots and it’s going to be amazing.
The only thing needed is for her to show up.
YOU ARE READING
The Piano Player
Fiksi RemajaSome people were born into lives that seem to be written by boy band-obsessed fan girls, or introverted poets, or dreamers that never stop floating into the clouds. With lives full of conflict and interest and changes, they just simply made chameleo...
