The Sanctuary Beyond the Undergrowth

Keith changes with the seasons, I guess. Winter rolled around, which meant our skirts were now below the knees and our shirts were long-sleeved. I wore my favorite knee-high socks to show it off to him, but his park bench was cold and empty. I came everyday after that and he never showed up, but I kept coming in hopes that I’d see him again. I’d grown so accustomed to our usual bustle that I felt like a few pieces of the puzzle had been removed when I couldn’t see Keith’s face for a while.

My walk became a stumble. My mind grew to a mush. His name was erased from my notebooks and so were mine. I felt as if everybody was staring and watching as I crumbled from lack of his voice, his touch, his smile, his tears. It’d only been three months; what was wrong with me?

Where is my Keith?