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From the Valley of Saints
You think you’re hidden behind the sullen walls of your black citadel.
You think you’ve put everyone off with your silence.
You think you’re cold and aloof.
And you think no one knows you.
You’re right.
You wear dark clothes, and yet you could have faded into nonexistence as far as everyone one else’s realities went. People’s eyes glaze over you and slide past the posters plastered onto the wall. I haven’t ever heard you laugh – haven’t ever heard you talk to anyone else but the teacher. And where you go – what you do when you aren’t in class – is a mystery no one will care to solve. You’ve made it like this. But you made a mistake when you dragged me away from the throng of viciousness. You left my thanks in your dust as you took off without a word, and this caught my attention more than any “welcome” could.
And suddenly, you were very much existent.
I started watching you. I took out the crooked stitches of the half picture I sewed so far and started over.
Boy. Amber eyes. Dark hair. Lanky.
I started watching you…
…and I found that you were intriguing.
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