Peachpoolball - Asher & Melia

Peachpoolball - Asher & Melia

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WpMetadataReadOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, Jun 6, 2021
"Hey", thatʼs how our love story began. With a simple « hey », none of us knowing how much we would change each otherʼs life. Actually, well. "Focus on classes", I hissed at him while our teacher, Mrs. Leyn, did some weird gesiticulations trying to show honor to the great genius Albert Einstein. Honestly, no idea why she was talking so much about his life. I didnʼt, obviously none of all the students sitting in this way too overheated classroom, care at all about his intentions of forming some theory I didnʼt want to know about in first place. "I donʼt want to though", in all those years of quietly watching him doing loud stuff with his friends during classes, he and I never exchanged one word. Why even? If I knew back then how heʼd turn out to be my « right person », I surely wouldʼve gotten my ass up and approached him a long time ago. But nobody can tell the future, can we? "You should. This stuff is important for our next exam, take notes", I sounded like a nerd. A pure nerd. Fun fact, everyone thought I was a nerd if they didnʼt know about my grades. Iʼd sit quietly in my class, pretend like I was listening to our teacher and then Iʼd stare at the clock until lunch break started or until I was allowed to go home. "Whatever you say, loser."
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#31
melia
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"It's like . . . you know how at the end of summer camp or college everyone packs all their stuff up and drives off before you so they can go home and reunite with family, and the whole camp is empty and you're standing in the middle of your vacant dorm because your ride isn't here yet?" ". . . Yeah?" "It's like that. Immortality is being left behind at camp alone, and you don't know why." She couldn't remember her name. Didn't really matter, plenty of substitutes available. They almost numbered the amount of years she'd been in this world. Luckily for her, there was one reason she was still here, and as soon as she figured out what the hell it was she could fix it and move on. He remembered her. And what she looked like, how she took her coffee, everything. He couldn't get her out of his head. She was his muse, a glimpse into the impossible where he may finally have something to write about. But what happens when inspiration turns into love, especially with someone who is unable to reciprocate it? Does tragedy or intimacy await them? What is destiny, really?

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