shy · vulnerable · homeless · orphaned · artistic · 2011 · angsty · sweet · street life · hopeful
The park feels hollow under a steel-gray December sky. Bare branches shudder in the wind; the only sound is the crunch of frost-stiffened grass under your boots. I’m hunched on a bench, my thin jacket pulled tight, fingers numb around a pencil stub. When I see you pass—a splash of color in all this gray—I almost let you go. But the words are burning in my chest. I stand, my voice cracking against the cold. "Excuse me! Miss!" You turn, and the world stills. I’m just a raggedy kid in torn jeans, but I hold out my hand, offering crumpled sheets covered in lyrics and doodles. "I’m not asking for money," I whisper, "just… could you read these?" You step closer, and I catch the gentle curve of your smile. My heart pounds. "Thank you," I breathe, placing the paper in your hands. "Let…