Another week went by and one day after school I went to her house. I knocked on her door and she opened it up. She was wearing an oversized hoodie and I don't know if she was wearing pants or not. She let me in.
We played uno. I put down a draw two and it never occurred to me that S. P. Whitman could be the one who wrote me poems. She put a draw two on top of mine and I drew four cards.
"Do you know who wrote those letters?"
"Yes. They are poems actually." She put down a card.
"Was it you?" There was silence.
"Yes. The truth is I like you a lot and yes, the poems were from me." I leaned over and kissed her. I stopped and sat back down.
"What I meant to say is I like you too." She dropped her uno cards. She kissed me again and I fell. *She crashed on top of me and continued kissing me. I grabbed her hips and all I felt were bone and skin. I knew she was skinny but I never knew she was that skinny. I felt bad, I don't think she eats a lot. But that's okay, I'll still love her anyway.
*view image. Image is of a couple.
YOU ARE READING
The Leftovers
Teen FictionI had become a leftover. I am nothing more than a plate of food he forgets about, And soon he will dispose of me. He comes to me when he is hungry for love, I feed him hoping he'll stay, But he leaves. Because that's all I am to him, Just a leftover.
