[For you Inglese-Ettes are the photos my husband and daughter]
remember how green the grass was under his black Pebble Taylor. The ones with small projects and the song lyric scribbled on the sides. I remember how smooth my felt pen against the edge of her white shoes that day. I wrote Connor + Jenny but then I heard a small child it was all I could think about when they asked me to write something. I added a little star because I always saw his picture on their cards in their school. The star took a little smushed because this is when the bus hit a pothole in the road. I have always given the place of the window because he said that the world has moved from so the fast sometimes, and if she was not looking, you could miss something wonderful. I have not spared to miss it if I have to look at. I have not watched his eyes moving back and forth trying to focus on one thing, but capable of achieving. His forehead pressed against the glass, being around discordata the driver of the bus eccentric.
Sometimes I wrapped my arm behind his head and I cradled in my hand. I watched the muscles in his cheeks to pull her lips into a smile when he saw something out there in the fast moving world he loved. Sometimes I would look the other girls in our class and our wonder how it could be so much better looking than they were when they tried so much harder. He wore the same black necklace around her neck every day, something was found on the back of his mother's closet. He twisted three times to do it is fine the way she loved.
Sometimes the twisted part would slide around the front, those were my favorite times. Supports behind the slipping around her hair, the hair that smelled exactly like a hard candy, the kind of strawberries and cream that my math teacher has always eaten. It would make a wish. Sometimes, said his desires out loud, even if it meant I was wasted. Flatmate
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