park
Park had been dead inside for most of his junior year.
She wasn't at his house after school. She wasn't rolling her eyes at him during English class. She wasn't with him when he walked past the RV by his grandparent's house. And worst of all, she wasn't there to sit with him on the bus. When he realized on the first day of school that she wasn't there, he felt his heart being ripped out of his chest as he fought back tears on the way to school. It felt like the longest bus ride of his life.
He had never felt more alone...
After that miserable experience, he couldn't stand to ride on the bus alone, so he drove himself to school for the rear of the year. The days went by slowly, each one harder than the next. Park felt as if there was a heavy weight on his heart that was weighing him down. He had begun to notice how dull life was without her. Eleanor.
His Eleanor.
But now, things were different. Ever since he revived the post card from Eleanor, he felt hopeful, and... lighter. The rest of the year seemed to go by faster, as he hoped and hoped that the post card really meant what it said. Three words. That's all it was. He had sent her letter, after letter with hundreds of words on them, but for some reason, these three words were enough. They were just enough for him to regain hope, after he had thought it was all gone. To any other person, the words would just spell out a simple sentence. But to Park, they meant so much more. He read them over and over again in her messy scrawl:
I'm coming back.
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It was now midway through June, and Park had gotten the postcard in early May, but he still hadn't given up. He knew that he was obsessed over this; the idea that Eleanor might be coming any day now. He sat on his bed and read the words over and over again:
I'm coming back.
I'm coming back.
I'm coming back.
She was coming back... or at least that is what she had said so in the postcard. Park sometimes found himself in doubt, but tried to push these thoughts way back in his mind. What if it was a mistake? But he realized that her handwriting was so distinct that there was no way that someone from Minnesota would have the same exact handwriting and accidentally write the wrong address down. What if this was some sort of sick joke? But Eleanor would never joke about something this serious. She loved him...
Right?
Author's note: Okay, so... I hope you liked it! I hope to continue this for a while, until I get to where I want it to be. I would really, really appreciate it if you would take the time to write a review. It means a lot and also motivates me so much. Thanks for reading!
Love,
ShadowRavens