"Hey." he greeted the girl who always sat by the window of the dingy, vintage coffee shop and read; always ordering the same: hot chocolate with a side of marshmallows and a lemon and poppyseed muffin.
She glanced up from her novel, her gold and dark green glasses falling a little down her nose, "hello."
"How are you doing?" I asked conversationally.
"Um," she pushed her glasses back up her nose and brushed a piece of her sugar-brown hair off of her forehead, it jumping into the halo that framed her face angelically, "I'm good thanks and you?"
I grinned at her shyness, "I'm good, do you mind?" I pulled the deep brown bar stool next to her slightly.
She smiled shyly, dropping her head slightly and moving over a bit so that I could get into the space between her and the chair. I brushed against her arm and noticed her lightly dusted cheeks.
That day I was wearing black jeans, ripped and frayed at the knees with my Timberlands and a white T-shirt which reached my crotch and a camo green jacket - don't judge me, I'm a lightskin.
She was wearing leggings and black combat boots with a black vest and a leather jacket. Her legs looked really good.
I asked the waiter for a cappuccino and he nodded.
"Do you come here often?" I asked her and she looked up from her book again, she looked surprised that I talked to her again.
"Yes, you know I do." she pointed out.
"Right," I nodded, "I didn't realize that you noticed me."
"I didn't realize you noticed me." she shot back and I grinned - I hoped - charmingly.
"Of course I did."
"Me too." she said awkwardly and I tried not to swoon.
YOU ARE READING
{2} never alone.
Poetry"...we're hopelessly complicated and beautifully entwined, maybe we're ignorantly emancipated and selfishly try to prove it wrong..." lowercase intended.
