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The rain still falls. It hits the roof and runs off and drops to the ground. They can hear it. The rain drums a beat, and they can hear it loud and clear. It rings like bells, and they can hear it bounce off the walls as it fills their ears. The sweet sound of the rain.

It should be snow. Fall is long gone and the air is cold, but the snow fails to fall. They both hate the snow, but they hate the rain more. They hate it the most when the air is cold and there should be snow. They want snow, but they, more than all the rest, should know that what one wants and what one has are not the same things.

He wants her. The girl with the red hair that is dyed a dark shade of brown. Her name starts with an M and she sings at their church with her best friend, who is by chance one of his best friends as well. He wants her and she knows it, and he knows that she knows it, but he does not mind. He can’t have her is she knows or if she does not know, and he feels that she might as well know, yet he still lusts with no hope for the girl whose name starts with an M.

He likes the way her hair looks when the sun is out. It sort of glows, and when the light falls on it the right way, he can still see the red shine through. Her hair still looks nice when it rains, but it’s not the same. The dark brown looks fake, close to harsh, in the dim glow of the lamp that sits on the left side of the room. It’s not the sun. It’s not the same.

She feels bad. He knows that she feels bad and she knows that he knows just how bad she feels, but she’s fine with that. If he asks her how she feels, she’ll say she’s not sure. She is sure, but she can’t bear to hurt him. Deep down, she cares. She won’t say it, but she does.

He loves her. He wants her to be his, but he can’t have her. He knows that what he wants and what he has are not the same things. But he loves her. He loves the girl with the red hair that is dyed a dark shade of brown, whose name starts with M, who sings at their church with the girl who is a best friend to them both. He loves her.

The rain still falls. The snow won’t come, though the air has grown as cold as it can be. The rain falls, and he loves her. Tears form in his brown eyes as he looks at her blue ones. They run down his face and drop to the ground, much like the rain, which still falls.





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ilovejuliansmith said...
Jul. 21, 2011 at 12:11 am
ooh! i liked this alot! it was unique in the sense you only used one-syllable words and no names, and it was interesting to read:) i liked how you tied the rain together with the guy's tears. it was a very sweet, if not sad, story. keep on writing! :)
 
Ally_H. replied...
Jul. 21, 2011 at 10:39 am
thank you :)
 
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