Part 3
The last boy I ever liked.
He stands proudly, smoothing down his ruffled light-brown hair, smiling ear-to-ear. His blueish green eyes twinkling despite the lack of proper lighting.
It's funny to see him like this, because I know we met in 6th grade--but he's the same age he was the last time I saw him. I'll never get used to how tall he is now, or how he styles his hair--or how he's no longer in my class. Two years I chased the boy I'm looking at, before I realised I loved him like a brother.
I hug him tightly, and I can feel him crying against my shoulder--he's been through so much.
I let go reluctantly to turn my head to face the beautiful redhead that was the first girl I liked.
She has braces, her eyebrows are so light you would almost assume she didn't have any if it weren't for her filling them in--but her eyes were auburn. A dark pool, easy to get lost in.
I vividly remember her claiming in a game of Truth or Dare, that she might be bisexual--but only for her best friend.
I nod to her, but she doesn't see me. Just how it was in 6th grade.
To be continued...
[em]
YOU ARE READING
Blind Poets
PoetryPoetry for those who find both comfort and discomfort in the dark. - Em Instagram: @em.g_4 WARNING This book includes references to sensitive topics such as suicide, depression, struggles with mental health and so on.
