The leaves swirl, born aloft by the chill autumn wind, unaware of the girl with the dark hair standing in their midst. She clutches her binder to her chest, the white plastic making it harder to breathe, but she doesn't notice. Her eyes are locked on the near distance, stare glassy in wonder.
The boy stands a little ways away, on the other side of the fall storm, laughing, blue eyes alight on a girl standing in front of him. The girl, long, auburn hair swishing, smiles at him and starts to leave. He grabs her wrist, lightly, like holding a fragile being, the arm of one who could shatter at any given moment. His mouth moves, and she nods, smi
In her arms he was safe, from the world, from the people in it. Sometimes it felt like everyone else was just ghosts; they were the only ones that really existed, felt life. Her hands were so small, he could fit them in his perfectly. He would lift her up and spin her around, her hand on his heart, his in her waist. He watched her dance when she thought he wasn't looking, the way she could move like there was something inside her trying to get out. She called it contemporary. Sometimes he would write poetry for her, but he had filled two notebooks before he had the courage to show her. When he did, he bought a ring to go with it.