"You can't speak,

can you?"

You asked one day.

Your voice was dancing

with curiosity and knowledge.

"It's okay, really."

My head raised up to meet

yours as I noticed the waitress

glancing at the back of your

head. She rolled her eyes

and went back to cleaning

the tables.

I took out a notepad and

scribbled down a few

words of truth.

I think you're beautiful.

A blush crept up onto

your cheeks and as

you took the paper away

from my fingertips,

I watched as your

handwriting slid across

the paper, giving it a taste

of beauty.

I think you're handsome.

A chuckle bubbled out of

your lips, I'm guessing,

because it seemed as

if you were enjoying this

moment. With me.

But then the moment, like every other,

drifted away as a car beeped outside.

A boy with tousled brown hair, impatient,

rolled down the window.

What the hell, Azura? Where

have you been?

You quickly wrote down,

I have to go. I'm sorry.

And like everything in

my life, left.

Children's tears are always lighter

and more painful than those of adults,

aren't they?

Because it felt like my eyes didn't

know how to cry anymore. I couldn't

handle the pain.