Mr. Blue Converse High Tops-ooo-Mr. Blue Converse High Tops
There is an empty seat next to a black haired boy in a bright blue shirt. He sits facing the wall and nursing a drink as I enter the quaint little café. For a split second, I think it’s Ben – Ben finally coming back to tell me everything; to explain. I hear my slight gasp; I feel my knees go weak as all outside sound filters out, replaced by my ragged breathing and my hammering heartbeats. Something in the way he holds his coffee cup, something in the way his head tilts towards the empty seat – almost like he’s expecting someone – reminds me of Ben and our summer conversations over coffee and croissants. But the black haire
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That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die.
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"I dreamed of vine and grass, apples and emeralds, rain and white night-flowers that bloomed with green centres. I dreamed of everything I’d lost and all that I’d found and everything in between."
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All your bowtie pasta belongs to me!
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