TWENTY - EIGHT

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Kyle waits by the table. She eats away at her fingernails and watches the sunrise. Her hair glistens a bright red against the rays of light peeking through the branches of the weeping willow.

"Hi," I say, clutching a yellow book named The Rosie Project to my chest. Kyle promised to read it with me; we both have too much free time.

"You're early."

"Yeah."

She stares at me. Too closely.

"Well . . . I suppose if you're already out here, you may as well watch the sunrise with me."

So I nod and sit down. My eyes flicker to the sky that illuminates a soft pink.  The sun peeks through the horizon, and the sky fades into red, then orange, then blue. The blue is . . . indescribable; an enigma really. The colors encase my body, and I feel a warmth stretch across my spine. I feel beauty bury itself into the sky. I feel alive.

Then suddenly, there's comfort.

I'm home.

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