There’s nothing like a crisp spring breeze to wash away the shards of your a broken heart. As a kid, my feelings were expressed with a much poorer choice of words.

“Well, this stinks!” I exclaimed to my friends, small in both population and in stature group of friends.

“I think you tagged her too much” my friend William Fyas Septimus Chamberleine submitted. We called him Wolfy for short. Fat chance we’d take the time to spew out that practical joke his parents called a name.

I briefly contemplated this accusation but soon cast it aside as implausible. I kneow I timed my tags expertly. I tagged her once at halfway through first recess, twice consecutively at lunch, and once just before the last bell:, a well-executed farewell in my book.

“Nah,.” I stated, while m simply. My mind re-wound its “What went wrong?” soundtrack on high volume.wandered in curiosity, I peaeked my head out from our tire headquarters: my true love,. Eleanor, my true love stood too close yet so far. Her chestnut hair bounced softly in the light wind. I reached dared a feat I never thought possible, forcing myself to pull my gaze away from her heavenly being, where m. My eyes fell upon what pained me most. Lucas Steele, a fourth grader best described as a young Edward Cullen (, annoyingly handsome with more secrets then I could count, which is at least twenty). My face fell into horror realizing that not once he did nothe tag her. Not once. He simply stood thereir talking for what seemed like minutes, an featachievement unimaginable for most. Unfortunately, this was not the case for Lucas. H, he stood there cockily with a sickening smirk on his face. Eleanor stared back at him. It was obvious they were in like. I knew there was nothing I could do about it. My dear Eleanor had deserted me. There was no way I could put upgo on looking at her without feeling what was left of my heart ache. I knew I would never ever think about liking someone again.
I turned away to face the opposite side of the playground. My watering eyes fellalling upon the swings, but more importantly what sat in one of them. There swung a girl, more beautiful than the night sky, and far brighter than the stars that illuminated it. There’s no doubt I would’ve traded in all my crayons to be hers for even a second. I ran towards her, arms outstretched, stopping. I stopped just beyond her kicking reachd the back-and-forth of her trajectoryin front of her. She slowed her swing and looked up at me, freeze-tagging me . It was as if she had freeze tagged me with her eyes. Luckily, the freeze it wore off. Before the freeze could fully take hold, I , I swiftly threw out my hand, tapping her on the shoulder..

“You’re it.”