Toxic she says. But fresh air she was.
A smile and a giggle when ever she looks back at me. Pink hair in the wind and hand grabbing at my waist.
Playful shouting whilst she wonders ahead, telling me to walk faster.
She smiles, the day is pleasant, is she happy?
Hurt, emotion, pain, she lets me in, sentence by sentence.
I hate, I hold, I wonder.
The girl with the pink hair on a Wednesday afternoon.
Toxic. But fresh air she was.