Do you remember?
How you were the first to change my expressions.
By the end of Friday's school day, I found you sitting opposite me again in art class.
You asked me.
"Why don't you use your voice?"
I found myself shrugging.
"You don't like your voice?"
I flipped open my notebook, writing my answer down. I turned it over so you could see.
"I like writing more."
You smiled at me.
I always felt bad for not returning your small smiles. They were ever so gentle.
But I couldn't find myself having the confidence to do so. I still felt guilty for not apologising to you.
I stood up, packing away my art supplies I left in the classroom. By the time I turn back to my desk, you were gone. Again.
I packed up my books to go home.
I saw your neat writing on the same page.
Right beneath my words, you wrote something.
I glanced over your words for the second time, finding the slightest of smiles on my lips.
"I like writing more."
(I like your voice even more.)
