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Valentines memories.: True valentines feelings can't always be reveiled.
Posted by Claire, Feb 13, 2008. 1777 views. ID = 592

Valentines memories.

Posted by Claire, Feb 13, 2008. 1777 views. ID = 592
This post was written in 42 minutes.
Hurm... I'm not sure about this. It took ages to write because I kept getting block. I hope it's not too awful.
Please comment snd let me know what you think, or give me tips on improving my style. Thank you.
This post has been awarded 24 stars by 7 readers.

As I sit at my ink-stained desk, staring at my pen nib as it sketches out the days work, I feel someone staring at me. It's him.

"Do you know what day it is?" he asks with excitement in his voice.

"Thursday" I simply reply.

"Okay, if you're sure about that" he laughs.

Then he slips a red envelope onto the corner of the desk. I simply look at him, smile politely and return to my work as he walks away.
It's left there all day. I never open them at school. I never plan to open them at all, but curiosity always wins. So, at the end of the day, I slip the envelope, now with grubby edges, into my bag whist no one's watching and run towards the door and down the street. I don't slow until i've reached my bedroom. I rumage around my bag, contains spilling to the floor, in search of it. When I find it, I just stare.
I stare for what seems like hours, but I know must only be minutes. Then, finally, I tear into the paper.

He's gone all out this year.
It started as a scrunched up piece of pink paper with a sribbled heart and a couple of barely ledgable words, but sat in front of me now was the most beautiful handmade card with velvet hearts and ribbon framing the edges.
I place the spotless card on top of my Care Bear bedspread, faded with the years, for fear of dirtying it. Slowly I turn the elaborate cover and gaze upon the red letters. His handwriting appears to dance around the page, no longer the squiggle of a boy, but the script of a man. I take every letter in, one-by-one, and then, there it is. He upholds his question mark, because, for him, it'll always be a little secret.

After a while I close the card and scoop it up from the duvet. I rush over to my set of drawers and open up the bottom one. As I lift my text books I see a sparkle of past memories. I slide the newest between them and close the drawer again.
I turn away and smile to myself.
He'll never know how I truely feel.

Copyright 2008 Claire. All rights reserved. has been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work. For permission to reprint this item, please contact the author.

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This post has been awarded 24 stars by 7 readers.
This post is part of a writing prompt: Happy Valentines Day?
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