Scraps (16) A Diary of a Girl

...Or 'unfinished writing attempts' 

Or my teenage hormones were high that time I wrote this, I presume. I found this when I was going through the papers in my room, organizing things - keep, trash, burn -, and well it made me laugh and shake my head in exasperation. It was signed:
A Diary of a Girl (quite appropriate)
And he stood before me, still and iridescent, dark and perfect. His hair the color of night, his eyes as warm as the dying embers of autumn fire and his face so beautiful it hurts. Taking his outstretched hand would have been the biggest mistake and no one could have swayed me.
Hiding in embarrassment,