Sara's Diary

September 1st

Dear Diary,

Cooler air hugs us now.

I've made small changes to my wardrobe. Shorts to jeans. Short sleeve to long sleeve. Jacket-less to jacket-ed. Sandals to boots. I often dream of the shorter winter days. Where hats, gloves and scarves are a necessity. When it can snow forever coating everything in it's white magic.

Autumn is cool too. The oranges, reds and browns are whimsical. The wind is sweet-sounding though it's actions are bitter. The rain is calming. So, so calming. It's pitter-patter producing a beautiful song. Nature's own melatonin. 

Today was particularly harmonious. The downpour had saturated the concrete, glistened the grass and topped up the sea. I fought the urge to hum along with it on the drive to college.

Psychology was scheduled first for the day. Two hours free. Then English. Another hour free. Fine Art. Then home.

I waved goodbye to Alicia before going to Fine Art. And there he sat at the only empty bench. Fixated on his phone. On the bench I usually sat at. Oblivious to my entrance.

I sat opposite him. On the green, paint covered stool. Looking at me he smiles happily. I ask how his first day went. Tugging on the rim of his Yankees cap, he shrugs. And says OK. I begin to ask what his plans were after we finish college. He tells me about his love for football. And all the games he played. The leagues his team has won. Hoping to do that whilst everyone else is at uni. I joke that he must be good at it. He laughs deep exposing his pearly whites and says Yeah, something like that. He invites me to one of his games before asking me about my future.

I tell him about my love for psychology and how human behaviour intrigues me. I wanted to be an educational psychologist. To help lost kids. He smiles admiring my passion and said it was cute.

Ms. Carr starts her lesson.

She runs through the requirements to achieve the best grades, then informs us of the coursework we had 12 weeks to complete. Painting poetry. To translate poems into art. Poems about flowers. Poems about children. Poems about foods, moods and battered shoes. Poems about bees, trees and arctic seas. Poems about soaring doves and being in love.

We're given poems to choose from but have the choice of picking our own.

When I turn to face him again our eyes meet directly. I wasn't sure if he had been staring at me whilst Ms was talking. Why did he look so good today. In his all black fit. Head to toe. Black t-shirt. Black jeans. Black boots. His lips particularly inviting. Pink and begging to be parted with my own.

Then Amanda floated in like a pretty petal lost in the wind. She apologised for her lateness and sat near the front back turnt towards us. His eyes were on her now.

Her slender body. Sleek hair that fell from her scalp. How could I compete with that. She was a brillant artist. A* student. How could I compete with that. Pretty sea blue eyes that brought in all the boys. Olive skin that changed with the climate. How could I compete with that.

Your eyes never left her for the rest of the lesson. You was distant when we spoke now as you concentrated on her feminine movements.

After class I muttered bye but you was disinterested, that or you didn't hear. You headed straight to her and her friend. She was giggling instantly. Touching your arm. Complimenting your dimple.

I felt weird. And walked pass. The downpour felt warm on my rich skin. Dampened my curls so that they were heavy. Ruined my canvas shoes.

I showered in hot water. Wishing that I was a pretty petal. Feminine. Soft. Beautiful.

I wished that I didn't have to be strong. Or fiesty. Bossy. Sexy. Wanted for only one night. In my white towel I wondered what Amanda had that I didn't.

Why were you so forward with Amanda and closed off with me. Wasn't it obvious that I liked you. Was crushing on you.

When I bit my lip whenever you'd smile or studied your movements carefully. In awe of you.

Couldn't you hear my breath hitch when you said my name. Sara. A song written just for me.

Wasn't it obvious.

Falling onto my pillow. Skin still wet. Hair in a bun. I looked out to the grey sky. How it washed out the oranges, reds and browns. How it matched my mood perfectly. The wind scattered the colourful pile of dead leaves so that they were alone.

Then I remembered your hesitation. In Avery's Bookstore. Words playing on your pink lips. Daring to leave. But never actually.

How could I make it obvious.

Sara