the only time we could ever meet was in the winter.
i remember the first below-freezing day that i met you, it was 8am but the sky was still stuck inbetween black and blue, you used to try and convince me that the sky was green at that time.
i remember meeting you, mark lee. i remember meeting the 7 year old boy with the scraped knees and bruised ankles- the boy way too eager to upgrade from your ankle-splitting scooter to a 'big boy bike'.
i remember it so well; i was sat on the curb, crying my eyes out at my grazed arm, you told me that pretty boys weren't allowed to ride bikes in case they got hurt, but your father scolded you for that.
he told you that it was only girls could be pretty and it was them who weren't supposed to get hurt.
you shrugged and told him that he didnt see why a boy couldnt be pretty, and handed me a colourful band aid from your orange back pack. you ruffled my hair and when i shooed your hands away you just laughed and told me you were wiping the snow away.
you told me that pretty boys like me shouldnt ride bikes in the snow, incase something like this happened.
i just pouted, i was being scolded by a loudly colourful boy who was only two grades above me, there wasn't much else i could do.
you smiled at me with that toothy grin and ran away.
the next day, i took your advice. i stayed inside and played with my mother while my father was at work.
you rode past on your bike, which was the same burnt orange as your back pack, and waved at me through the window.
that was the last time i saw you that year, i stayed everyday at the window hoping you would ride past- yet you didn't.
atleast not until next winter.
