Words of Comfort

Words of Comfort

Sketchbooks and writings. That’s exactly how they conversed.

Of course, his room is directly in front of her window was the reason of their unique way of conversing. And fate had it, his window faced hers too.

She’d start the conversation. Always. But the initial message will almost always lead to hour-long chats.

“How was your day today?” she wrote.

He would always grin at her, wave, then wrote his answer. Always.

But not that day. He scowled at her as if she had wrote some disgusting insult. With a last leering glare, he drew the curtains and then the lights were turned off.

.

The next night, she expected the same treatment. But what she expected and what she got were two very different things.

He initiated the conversation.

“Sorry about last night.”

She wrote down her answer and added purple stars around her words. “S’okay.”

“Yesterday was terrible,” he wrote.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really, I don’t wanna get irritated again.”

“When you want to, I’m always here,” she wrote.

She smiled at him through her window. A sweet smile, with her lips turned upwards that made her cheeks colour pink and her light blue eyes sparkle with childlike innocence.

She smiled at me.

And there was only one thought that ran through my mind: No matter how bad things get, whenever I see your smile things seemed to feel so much better already.

I drew my answer back at her.

“ツ     Thanks.”

 - Aug 2010