Today we talked about poetry, or at least what we think is considered poetry. He asked me if I was an object, what would I be and why. I said I'd be a wooden chair: a pain in the ass at times, but still there to support you. I asked him, and he said he'd be one of those deflated balls at the bottom of the basket that no one wants to play with at recess.
But deflated balls could be pumped with air. It's possible. But I don't think he was thinking about that.
YOU ARE READING
Diary Of Us
Short StoryA girl's diary in which she writes about a short-lived connection with a boy. *COMPLETED STORY*
