ᴜɴᴇᴅɪᴛᴇᴅ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀs ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏʏ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ » ᴄᴏʀʙʏɴ ʙᴇssᴏɴ

the

The third time you visited, it was nearly closing time again.

You avoided the greasy cheese pizza and went for the buffet-I've never understood how you could enjoy eating an entire meal so close to midnight. You smiled at me again.

And then I heard your voice.

You were bent under the sloped plastic surrounding the buffet line to heap salad and pasta onto your plate, and you were singing. Loudly.

It was high and gorgeous, the notes floating to the ceiling with seamless effortlessness. Like you didn't have to think about it.

Mom sings, but not like you. You have a gentle lilt to your tone while mom is set for the stage. She didn't audition for musicals often, but then again, for years she'd simply been desperate to get her foot in any acting door available.

I moved around behind the counter wiping down surfaces that had already been wiped down, my head tilted towards the floor, pretending that I wasn't listening.

When you left, I wished I could've heard you for just a little longer.