What I Wish You Knew | ꪜ

Chapter Twenty Five

To Parker,

25. I wish you knew you gave me something new.

Hayley's POV

"What's this?" He inquired, his fingers trailing over my yellow box sat upon the dresser. It was open and inside held all my poems, poems I wrote in my happiest and darkest times. Luckily, the other box which sat right beside it was sealed shut. Something more valuable was inside and though I'm pretty reluctant when it comes to showing others my poems, I'm still glad he didn't acknowledge the other box.

"They're poems, well not really poems but they're more so my thoughts that I write down in a poem format. It helps because sometimes it feels like my thoughts are so loud they cloud my mind. So I write." He swivelled his head towards me, "you any good?"  I couldn't help but blush as our eyes interlock. 

My mind drifted back to just moments ago when we kissed. We both didn't expect it to happen and spring away from each other quickly as if we were committing a crime. I couldn't even muster up a proper sentence as I fumbled around the kitchen, momentarily forgetting why I was there, to begin with.

After I completely forgot what I was doing in the kitchen, I very awkwardly offered for us to go upstairs to my room to finish our project and now we're here. "I mean, you can read one and be the judge of that yourself." Why was I letting him read so many of my intimate thoughts? I wasn't entirely sure, but I think it has to do with my change in attitude.

Ever since we became friends, I no longer feel emotionally numb. I'm not stuck in the grey area of nonchalance. When I smile, I can feel the burst of euphoria and when I cry I can feel the dull ache in my chest. I'm not saying Parker was some kind of cure, but he did help somehow, but I don't know exactly how.

He fished out one of the perfectly folded papers from the box and began to read. After a few excruciating seconds, he suddenly sauntered across my room towards the guitar stand. "What are you doing?" Without responding to my question he grabbed the guitar from its case and made his way towards me. 

He propped the guitar up in his hands and placed the poem onto his lap when he sat down beside me. "Just listen," he finally said. His fingers glided against the strings of the guitar."Make me feel alive again, hold me till we reach the end, don't leave me let me be your friend again. Just grab my hand and hold on tight, everything will be alright, just need you to believe that we're just fine, just hold my hand."

I was mesmerized, wondering how one person could be this talented. He could play the guitar, play football, sing and he was incredibly intelligent. If Parker doesn't make it as a football player in the future there's no saying what else he could be.

"Just hold my hand, I'll be your friend, until the end. Just hold my hand, hold my hand, I'll be your friend, I'll be your friend until the end." He stopped singing and for a moment my eyes were just fixated on his fingers strumming the strings of the guitar before I finally peered up, "Parker," I huffed in disbelief, "that was amazing." 

"Well you wrote it," he said as he placed the guitar down beside him. I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly and fumbled with my fingers, suddenly feeling that wave of insecurities all over again. "Well yeah, but you executed it."

He exhaled deeply. It sounded as if he were exhausted with my complaint. Before I could comprehend that thought, the bed dipped as he slid closer towards me. From my peripheral view, I could see his face etching towards me and I sat there almost stunned at my nonchalance. He then outstretched a hand towards my head and grabbed a hold of one of my two loose curls purposely hanging over my forehead.