The baby pink pigment on your digital clock had become jaded, the flashing red fluorescent digits on the device informing you of the time. It was eight o’clock in the morning, your fingers feebly squeezed the iPod in your hand as the wires from your earbuds had interweaved messily between the locks of your hair throughout the night. You had forced yourself to stay awake, your daydreams full of him. The sunlight had begun to crack through the blinds of your window, your pink fuzzy socks now grazing the carpeted floor of your room as you sat up.

Gently rubbing your eyes, you walked past your vanity, your fingers hastily removing the earbuds from your ears as you tossed the mechanism aside. The furniture now bore the weight of your various antiques, music CDs, and more. Your room had been decorated with various celebrity posters, the pink walls contrasting with the numerous shades of pink colored items scattered about.

Arriving at the window nook, you took a lace trimmed pillow and set it on your lap as you sat down. The tips of your fingers pushed the sheer lace curtains on your window away, your irises focusing on the street and sidewalk below you. He was on his morning run, his figure approaching from the end of your street. It felt inappropriate to watch him, you know you shouldn’t be, but you couldn’t contain the urge. Despite the proximity of both of your residences, he’d been suddenly so distant. You had grown considerably close to him due to school, he’d even shown an interest in you. At least you thought so. He had made promises of “being together” soon but he never followed up on his word. What’s worse was new rumors about him starting to become fond of another girl in your grade spread, his presence only began to cause you pain.

You shifted your head to your princess-like mattress, the frills on your duvet writhing underneath your chunky smartphone. Soon examining your lockscreen, he’d messaged you out of the blue. “Come outside.” he wrote, your front door not being a part of his typical route.