display | more...

His name was Leonard. And truthfully I’d always had a little schoolgirl crush on him.

One day I said hello and he just raised his eyebrow, which carried with it a degrading look. We used to be able to talk about a lot of things, one day everything I did seemed childish, he seemed so grown up all of a sudden.

I became friends with a boy named Joseph. He was Asian- and I am about as mad about sexy Asians as I am about soccer(and I am CRAZY about soccer), I don’t know, I suppose its just my little fetish-every one has one right?

We went into the city one day, Joseph and I and we were crossing a main road, and he sweetly grabbed my hand. He didn’t seem embarrassed about it all Joseph didn’t. Joseph was one of those guys who wouldn’t look embarrassed if they had to break-dance in a tutu. He had this beautiful Honey coloured skin, and a strong jaw line accompanying a wicked sense of humour. His hair was black, spiked with gold tips – not blonde, but gold.

So we were crossing this busy road, when he grabs my hand. It didn’t feel like a sweaty palm, but like a soft hand. He held it, not too tightly, or to strongly – perfectly. Well, we crossed that road, though at the time I wished we never would. But, the fingers didn’t un-intertwine with mine. Every time he looked up at me, it would be a side-glance, or one where he doesn’t lift his head up fully, just a glace upwards with a sly smile.

That day, we walked through the city like two little unimportant ants in a swarm. Yet I’ll always remember it, because it can’t happen again.

Leonard decided to befriend Joseph, and Joseph became silent, and now doesn’t flicker and eyelash when I walk past, he doesn’t even respond when I speak to him. I wish I knew their secret, but when I see him writing in class. The tiny perfect writing, written by a pen, which is held by his square fingers, strong hands. That hand held mine once, and I won’t ever forget about that boy, the one in my class who turned silent.

I can’t, but if I do I know I won’t be able to forget the feel of his hand. The way that he held it as if it was precious, he played with my fingers, like a child with a new toy. I won’t forget that, even if I wanted to I couldn’t.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.