She's the one who leaves her perfume scent in your bedsheets. The first pair of eyes that lock with yours in the morning. She hides her face in your sweaters, and never forgets to kiss you goodnight.
She's the kind of girl who smiles with her eyes. The kind who you find gazing up at the moon, rather than the city lights. You'll find her wishing on every shooting star she sees. One who chases fireflies, purely because she thinks they’re beautiful. Someone who never forgets to comment on a sunset, because she always finds them breath taking. And on your bad days, she'll sit and listen to you all night, until she sees you smile.
She believes everything happens for a reason. And that the freckles on her face, act as the physical form of every happy memory she's ever had. She believes dreams try to speak to you and that nature heals everything.
She'll make you read to her and reassure her, even when she knows the answer. She'll show you her art, just so she explain the deeper meaning to you. She will do anything for you because she leads with her heart.
She's the girl you fell in love with.
Autumn T
About the Creator
Autumn
Writing has always been my escape from reality. Letting me put memories, pain and desires into words. I enjoy making my stories poetic to really capture the scene and feeling of each line.
Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley6 days ago in Fiction
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