It’s Clear to See That I Love You More Than You Love Me
It’s Clear to See That I Love You More Than You Love Me

She stood anxiously before him as he sat on the step, her head bowed, warm almost strawberry hair hiding her expression. Around her neck a red winter scarf trailed despite the summer heat and over her shoulders she wore a nondiscript grey hoody, almost Jack Wills but not quite.

Her feet were awkward in trainers, box pleat skirt moving gently with her movements as she shifted her feet and diamond patterened Tabio tights unwillingly drawing his eyes down.

About his ears, the curl of his dirty blond hair, he felt a burning sensation of pain, a quiet fire of a truth that could not be denied.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I just can’t.”

Reaching out, she took his hand and placed within it the sole token of his misguided affection and then rushed past him, the imposing white front door of her house slamming behind her.

He sat quietly for a moment, token in hand and skateboard at the bottom of the steps and then, his limbs like dead weights, lifted himself up.

Turning he saw an older man at the window of the neighbouring house, reaching with spider leg fingers to push open the window, his blue eyes full of embarrassment and cruelty.

Their eyes met and the boy offered only the gaze of someone caught up in events beyond his understanding, the victim of a natural tragedy.

In the other’s face was a sense of cruel tragedy, a rejoicing in the failure of youth’s tender affection, the reminder of an old scar opened once again and the keen desire to see his own suffering reflected on the world around him.

He turned away and the boy, with nowhere else to go, placed one foot upon his skateboard, pulled his hood up closer around his ears and allowed forward motion, the same sensation that had not carried him forward into the absent girl’s heart, to carry him away with the cracks in the pavements and the setting sun.

The white door of her house remained silent and imposing.

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