I thought back on a time, where we writ with flowing pens and tapped our feet on blue carpets. Where we tapped the desk in anticipation, or with our sighing boredom, but then collided into our nighttime dreams.

I’d look intently at the details, the watch on the boys wrist, the shape of his fingers, thinning fingernails. And our rock music, the sound track to it all. The soundtrack to our summer highs, and colluding us with our winter blankets in harsh breezes. There’s nowhere else I’d rather now be. 

Trying to talk to him with my invisible stutter, tongue moving, pushing, daring against firmly closed lips. They didn’t want me to, them in my mind. ‘Not good enough.’ I fought and fought for him to hear me.

And then, the fantastical days when, Breakthrough! And I’d stutter down pencil cases, a hurricane met with a dashing smirk. And so it’s just because of that, of how I’m now in this entanglement, and that how then you drew me alit, your dreamy gazes of magpie eyes, glinting in the stars. I look up for them sometimes, I look up for them still.