Dear Kyle - Segment 5

May 17, 2012
By Anonymous

I looked around the room, the hall was filled with bustling teenagers. Girls with budding breasts and bouncy hair flounced past boys with wide eyes drenched in the stench of raging hormones. I felt like I floated above them. I felt that what I had was real. My love wasn’t going to end in two weeks like the girl twenty feet from me. I trusted that my heart was special, better than theirs. Like it was more pure, because I wasn’t it for sex. I wasn’t in it because I was immediately drawn to his body. Truth be told, what drew me in were his eyes. They were hypnotic, and they only ever searched for and looked at me. I was special.

I made my way through the mass of giggling girls and bulging backpacks, I didn’t care for the smell of cotton candy perfume or the sideways glances that I got from the other girls. I always knew I was different. I didn’t like to fit it. Chopped my hair to tiny stubs while other girl put in extensions. I never put on make-up, because no guy is worth that torture and he liked me better without it. I never talked about partying with this guy or swooning over this dreamy guy. I was never interested in that. I teased my girlfriends with tickles and jokes. I hugged all my guy friends, because Lord knows, I was practically one of them. I never painted my nails. I skateboarded all over the burbs, and if I crashed? Oh well.
I saw him. Sitting quietly by himself watching me with cocked half grin on his lips. His brown hair was getting messy and overgrown. And I loved it. His books were laid out in front of him and his pack hung neatly on the back of his chair. He was the only one there. My friends had a lot to say in the way of his looks. I know he was no prince charming, but some of the names the called him were wrong. Like “Mr. Creepy-Stalker-Pringles-Dude.” Ugh. He did have a very square jaw line and plain brown hair. And I know that he was short in the terms of guys, only two inches taller than myself. But was almost purely wired muscle, with soft pink lips. Blue-green-grey-yellow eyes, and hands that spoke of kindness.

I pulled myself into the chair next to him and dropped my bag to the floor. He reached for me and I turned to hug him. I felt every finger spark with warmth along my spine and I felt his breath on my ear. I kissed his cheek and rested my head on his shoulder facing his neck. I’d had a really shitty night last night. But here? Like this, I couldn’t even remember what happened.

The author's comments:
Why is it, that people never know what they truly have until it’s lost?

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