He could feel the bite of Autumn as he walked slowly past the house, tiny needles of November wind on his face. His late day shadow imitated him in acid trip-like distortions, while the few leaves that remained on the trees clung desperately to the last vestiges of life.
He passed the old iron gate and continued to the corner of the property, the sun now behind the house, casting it in a near - silhouette surrounded by a burst of orange sunset.
His eyes gazed upward and he smiled. The upper right window. That was the room, it had to be. It had red shutters then, and the paint wasn't faded and crumbling around it, and the gutter wasn't rusty and hanging but that was definitely the room.
He had met her that night and left the next morning and never saw her again. That was enough
.
It was good to be fifteen again.
He passed the old iron gate and continued to the corner of the property, the sun now behind the house, casting it in a near - silhouette surrounded by a burst of orange sunset.
His eyes gazed upward and he smiled. The upper right window. That was the room, it had to be. It had red shutters then, and the paint wasn't faded and crumbling around it, and the gutter wasn't rusty and hanging but that was definitely the room.
He had met her that night and left the next morning and never saw her again. That was enough
.
It was good to be fifteen again.
