I once had a crush on a boy.
I heard squelch noises on the ground behind me and let a small smile slip through the shield on my face. Though the heavy torrents of rain created a deep contrast to the almost summery sun of our first meeting by the fire, it was a lovely almost-deja vu.
“Happy it’s Friday?” he asked quietly as he caught up to me. I think he was under the impression I hadn’t heard him and was attempting not to startle me. What he never realized was his sudden presence never even surprised me anymore.
“Happy it’s raining,” I corrected him, smiling through the clumps of hair obscuring my face.
“Happy it’s raining?!” he asked me. I hear the shadow of a smile hiding beneath the incredulity in his voice.
“Yep,” I replied, demonstrating my happiness with cheer in my voice. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I just thought… Because normal people don’t—”
“I’m not normal people,” I cut him off. I was suddenly self conscious of the clothes on my back, black with broken hearts and glaring skulls.
“Oh, I know,” he sad. His expression suggested that no one would ever make the mistake of thinking I was normal, in any sense of the word.
I chuckled quietly. “You know?”
“Well, yeah,” he explained, “most normal girls would have an umbrella.” He gestured towards my open figure, wetter than the trees. I questioned him through the expression on my face. “Most girls care too much about their hair,” he clarified.
“I don’t,” I replied. I began crossing the street, reluctantly beginning the solitary end to the trek home. I was flat out lying to him, though. He’d never know I just feel prettier in the rain.
He stared at me for a second longer than our acquaintanceship called for, and we parted ways.
“I don’t…” a whisper escaped my lips, never heard, lost amongst the sky’s tears.
