1965
She's a peach.
Scone.
She's a peach scone.
"God, Hazza. You've been staring out that window for hours now. Aren't ye a bit bored of the same old boring scenery?"
He sighed. His baby was on his mind, he'd never get bored.
Every time one of them talked it reminded him of a different part of her. John was her hair; long, always has a different story to tell, full of character. Paul; her eyes. Innocent, full of life but specks of every little thing she put her mind to. Never squinted, never afraid. Full of wonder and personality. They almost had the same eyes, her and Paul, both slanting downwards with eyelashes that curled up to heaven. And Ringo; well, her and Ringo had met before they even breathed the same air. They knew each other inside and out, no matter what they said about it. Sometimes he even thought that she loved Ringo more than him. Everything about her reminded him of Ringo, personality wise, which seems a bit weird to the others (considering they do, ahem, things with each other that George'd never think of doing with Ringo) but disregarding all of them, he loved her. He was so madly in love, no matter what bird crossed his path, he always would love her.
"'m fine," George mumbled, watching the familiar trees pass by the window. The train they boarded was headed towards the outskirts of Cornwall, which they'd been dreading to go back to after their dreadful tour to the U.S. Their plane had taken them to Heathrow, unable to fly to one closer to Liverpool, even at the request of four very well known men, and it added on to their dragging days of travel.
"Yeah, he's alright, he's thinking about Mary."
He could only look at Paul to let him know that's exactly who he was thinking of. To feel her arms again was something he longed the most.
"I'll be at the station when you lot get here." She told him the night before on the phone, and it couldn't seem to get there fast enough. "I'll give you a hug, like you're always asking for."
"Darling, ye know hugs are me favorite."
"That's what I'm getting at." He could feel her smile through the phone take a toll on him, and it had made him smile. He then had to hang up so Ringo could call Mo, but for the rest of the night he cried. Putting on a fake face for the world to see while you played guitar was getting to him. It was killing him that the only face he couldn't see-was hers.
