I scratched your initials inside my locker, to touch you each day between classes. I spoke your name under my breath; formed you with my lips, tasted you on my tongue.
You were diner coffee and cigarettes. A baggy black t-shirt meeting low-slung jeans on sharp hips.
That space in-between.
Jean Buie is a lawyer by trade who loves to write fiction and creative non-fiction. She lives in Toronto, ON with her family and her dog, Grimm.
Love the tension!
thank you :)
Ahh, tenth grade and smitten. Well done.
thank you, so much.
COOL
thanks.
Love this. Great piece. Bring me back to my youth.
thank you so much.