It’s about a boy (pt.3)

The next time I saw him I ran away. I went to the library or I went to the gym. I can’t remember and it wasn’t important. I was trying to be coy. Bashful. Irresistible. But I’d done it wrong because I’d never done it before. And my friends asked me why I left and why it took me two days to come back. And in all honesty I don’t remember what I said, because I didn’t realise it had been two days. So when I saw him again, the next week, I sat quietly in the corner and tried my best to focus all attention on everything but his presence. Which is hard to do when you’re thinking about nothing but him. So my body shivered under the weight of my torture and I think I pulled it off quite well because he left the room and went to the kitchen or the toilet or home. It doesn’t matter. It cleared my head and everything was zero again.

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