A Reverse Chronological Portrait Written by a Young Girl

Entry 4

Of course, the man was well spoken. The man was a walking lyric. I could read him for days, and I don’t believe there’s anything like it. His writing, I mean. Well, none of my poetry ever had the same effect on him.

No, he never wrote anything about me, but you could have figured that out. When I asked, he answered, “How stupid, Noelle – to write down a secret for just anyone to find.”

Regardless, I drowned in every sentence, word, and letter. I thought I knew him inside out, but like writing, I was his hobby and always two steps behind.