Her phone number was tapped along my keyboard and I hesitated before erasing it. And rewrote it. And erased it. I pulled my covers over my head and closed me eyes.
I type it in one last time, sending a simple message
Hi its Pierce
Less than a minute later she replies
Heyyy, whats up ;)
All I do is stare at the message. Five minutes have gone by before I can even make sense of anything.
Laying in bed wbu?
My eyes could barely even shut before I heard a familiar ping and buzz coming from my side. I pick up my phone and squint to read
Wishing I was laying in bed too. Are you okay?
Thats a broad question. Am I okay? I can't tell anymore. I find good in the bad, I laugh at funny things, I still talk to people, and enjoy nice days.
But some days, I find bad in the good, I tune out the people around me, and I lay in bed trying to watch the days go by. I answer her truthfully
I dont know.
And she replies to me
That's okay.
I cannot decipher exactly what she means.
Why is it okay?
I ask her. It takes a few minutes for the reply to pop up on my screen.
Its okay to be sad sometimes. Even if you're a guy. Don't be afraid to show emotion. I don't pity you, and you don't seem like someone who wants to be pitied. I would've given you my number anyways, whether I saw you at the park that day or not. Like I said earlier, you are intriguing Pierce Finnigan.
My head swam with the message as I read it. Trying to make sense of the letters, arranged in the way they are, letters forming words and words form sentences and sentences form the thoughts of the intriguing February Ashford.
YOU ARE READING
3am
Short Story"It's 3am and all I want is your lips on mine. It's the same as yesterday at 7pm, or Thursday at noon. It's the same as every hour, every minute, every second since I met you." #26 in Short Story.
