Thanks to a ridiculous amount of work my teachers lovingly decided to hand out, I was distracted enough to forget about the incident that occurred in the morning. However, as the day drew to a close, I remembered that the odds of me seeing the girl were considerably high, seeing as she lived less than thirty metres from my bedroom. When the final bell rang for the day, I gathered up my books and headed to my locker to meet Troy.Once we'd gotten our bags, we set off for the walk home, talking about the stupidity of our english topics. Troy was mid-rant when the girl from yesterday and this morning's incident pushed past us without so much as a by-your-leave. I was slightly peeved, so I called out after her.
"Hey where's the damn fire?" She whipped her head around to look at me, and as my eyes met her gaze I saw the glimmer of tears in hers. Shock was still registering in my mind as she turned back to face the front and walked off. Troy hadn't seemed to notice, and as my surprise slowly diminished, I caught the last of Troy's lecture: "... and that's why love is like an egg, get it?"
"Sure, sure, whatever you say man." Egg? What the hell was he on about? We continued to walk on, with Troy beginning a new speech on how maths should die. To me, his words went in one ear and straight out the other. My mind was too busy thinking. Yes, again about the girl. I think I might have a slight problem.
When we arrived at our street, I said goodbye to Troy and headed towards my house. I looked hopefully towards the end of the road, hoping to see the silhouette from yesterday, but it wasn't there. Not wanting to go home just yet, I walked up to the top of the grassy hill, lay down on the grass and stared at the horizon. It was a picture perfect moment, something not unlike what you would find on the back of a stereotypical postcard. A few birds skittered across the now golden with sunset sky, and their piercing calls hung in the air. I savoured the moment, perfect peace settled upon me, and I began to doze off. Nothing could make this scene better. Nothing.
Just as my eyelids shut, a familiar voice cut through my reverie.
"You were wrong." What? "It's more beautiful than anywhere in this world, not just the country." I turned around as my answer tumbled from my lips.
"But how was I wro..." the sentence trailed away, as I found myself looking once again into the most beautiful brown eyes.
Heart failure anyone?
Studio B
- Mark
- When you need to wake up in the morning, and set the right mood for the day, when you need to escape from the overwhelming everything of life. What do you turn to? How do you describe your core without speaking aloud, without having to talk to someone about it? This is how. Music. Lyrics. Poetry. Do you feel it? Do you? It's here, it's everywhere, locked within you, within the most tone deaf of us. It's begging to be released, become unleashed in a tearing chord, a crying melody, soulful harmony, dying lyric. You feel it yet? It's concealed here, within every word that I write. This is my release. I want you to see it, to feel it with me. This pure expression of every tangible and imaginable emotion known and unknown to man. To me. Welcome to The Window.