I wrote this the summer of my 17th birthday:
If there was any fondness, Faith no longer saw it, for it was as if it had been surgically removed overnight and feelings can change so quickly, sitting on day on the couch sharing a laugh, to the next day where his eyes begin to follow another, and sometimes she would linger, remember how he used to gaze at her until she looked over, then falter in step with no sorrow, no remorse, and a smile threatened to break, twist, turn into a scream. Them sometimes it was apparent to those around her that she was a daisy in the snow or a sunshower, for the time could fly beneath her, rolling her, tossing her about, and she might never notice.
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