In 102 Languages I Love You

I stared down at the melting snow below my boots. Some of it twinkled from the reflection of the sun, burning away at anything it could. My slim fingers bent down to grab some in my palm, bringing it back over to my face. For some reason this snow didn't feel quite as cold as the snow is supposed to feel. It felt like the same temperature as my hands. I squished it hard inside my palm, watching it as some slipped through the cracks in between my fingers. I realized it hadn't been melting away, my hands weren't warm enough for them to melt. Frustrated for some reason, I threw the snow back into it's original place and sighed.

I sat outside my house, on my house steps, watching whatever caught my attention. In the last hour fifty-three cars have passed by my street. Twenty, being red, one, being yellow, three, being maroon, eight, being black, four, silver, and the rest, multicolored. Before the sun decided to come out, I counted a hundred snowflakes land on my knee, and dampen my jeans as it melted. If I inhaled long enough I could feel the cooling air tickling away at my nose. I pretended to be three at one point, and pretended to trace on the cement. My nail traced against the small cracks of lines below me on the cement. You could almost see the small tiny particles that had been compacted together to make the step.

Mom had found out about my poor grades, about me skipping school, cutting classes, and Dan taking me to the hospital yesterday. You know what she did? She grounded me. I'm not sure how the whole thing works, to be honest. Dan's been grounded plenty of times, but it never really happened to me. She said I couldn't 'watch TV'. As if that was going to help, I never watched the damn thing anyway! She also said I couldn't go out. That didn't help much either since I barely went out. The only time's I've been going out is to see Drake. And if she think she can take that privilege away from me, she's insane! There is nothing she can take from me. I don't treasure something too much, that when she takes it away I'll 'learn my lesson.'

I rested my elbows on my knees and placed my face on my palms and stared up into the sky. People say to never look at the sun directly because it could blind you. But can it really? I've looked at it countless of times, and my eyes seem perfectly fine. I stared up at the swirls and puffs known as clouds. If you concentrated close enough and didn't move, you could see them hovering and slightly bouncing off one another as they moved right or left; depending on where you were. The shadows casted by the naked tree's in front of my house was decreasing as one thick large cloud slowly moved it's way to overpower the sun, and cover up part of it's rays. Suddenly, everything started to dim.

If there is one thing I'd like to tell people not to take for granted, it would be nature. I mean just think about it. Our world now a days is filled with computers, cars, buildings bigger than something you can actually imagine. Machine doing man's work. We have things killing away what the true beauty is. What's beautiful about a silver old machine? Nothing. I was stuck on this step and arguing with myself on to whether I should step off, or not. There was no way to get to Drake today. I was home from school, Dan was out working, and so was Mom. Feeling courageous, I got up from my step and headed back inside the house. If I dared to walk anywhere, my toes would fall off from the cold. As soon as my cast came off my leg I'd be free from torture and from imprisonment.

"SOMEONE SAVE ME" I yelled to myself, and not intending for anyone to respond. I fell on the couch. Maybe I was bored? Or maybe, I was lost? You're not making sense Madison!
I sat up on the couch and heard the wind whistling outside. If you listened closer though, just close enough, you could hear the scraping of shoes coming in contact with the cement below it. I sat there, immobile, listening to those feet until the sound came closer, closer and closer.

A knock on the door?

There are little slight differences and attributes people can pick up from others. There are tiny little characteristics that make someone unique. Everyone now a days thinks originality is completely gone, but it really isn't. There's always something in someone slightly different then the rest. I love making out the tiny differences, it means identity. And identity is a precious gift.

There is something different about Frank Iero's knocks on my doors, and especially the way he walks. When he stands, and doesn't move, his body is slightly slouched at the top. Sometimes he likes resting his body weight on one foot, and picks away at his tiny dirt particles in his nails. When his knuckles come in contact with my wooden door, (which by the way Dan hasn't painted yet), there is a slight angle of depression he puts on it that when he knocks, instead of knocking it the door with his ring finger and middle finger like most people do, he turnes his hand on a different angle, only knocking with his pinky finger. I wonder if that hurt him? It projected a different type of sound against the wood, causing me to know it was him all the time.

Slowly getting up from the couch, and limping my way towards the door, I prepared myself. Frank Iero just seems to be everywhere now a days, I didn't mind though. Slowly turning the knob after one more knock, Frank's face came into view. "Hey Frankie." I slightly smiled opening the door, welcoming him inside.

He let out a small 'Hey' back. He looked more nervous then happy to see me. Something was up. There goes another thing. You get to know someone so well when you're like me. Why? Remember, because of detail. If nothing had much detail the world would be one round circle, that looked blue and white. Or a swan would just be 'pretty' depending on your opinion, or just 'ugly'. Things would be just 'yellow' or 'small', instead of giving it a real description of what it really was.

"Are you okay?" I asked folding my arms, keeping them close to my body for warmth.

He stood in front of me, his hands were stuffed inside his jean pockets, and he stood there looking very uncomfortable. I could spot the tiny brown hairs on his arm slightly stand up in his forearm. There was something wrong. He fidgeted in his spot. Part of his body was lit up from the sunlight hitting against him as they fought through my living room windows. He began picking away at the strands of his ripped jeans. It was all the signs of him really being nervous. I watched his face slowly. "I did something stupid." He says.

I respond quickly, there is nothing really to think about, even if he seems to take hours to say something else. "What did you do? It can't be that bad." I frown, taking a few steps towards him.

He looks like he's breaking apart in front of my own eyes. Every little move he makes looks like he's breaking down. Even before he speaks, he looked like he could of died right there. He opened his chapped lips slightly, and when I expected him to say something, only dry air came out and a small disturbing squeak rang through the cold silent room. Slowly he gulped down the warm air inside his mouth and prepared himself again.

"God damn it Frankie just spit it out already! What did you do?"

His eyes quickly flew to my face.
"I fell for you."