A break from the usual stuff

This is just a piece I found today that I wrote when I was 16 about my boyfriend at the time.


He's not very big, a little taller than me, but there's no mistaking his size for frailty. He's ahtletic and seems to glide effortlessly from sport to sport and skill to skill like he was born to do each one. But he walks like a criminal. Head down, eyes lowered, like it's important that no one recognise his face. He takes huge strides, moves quickly. He wears a white cap pulled low, close to his eyes. It has dirty smudges from the same repetitive hand action that keeps it on, and him incognito. But somewhere in there are dependable soft lips, gates to his soft heart.