It's raining. It's dropping so hard on the roof.
Do you remember that time we went to a house on the hillside?
Our mothers (yours, mine, my neighbor and her friend's) planned the outing. It was the birthday of Madam Oliver's nephew and she invited our mothers, which included us families.
The cars were in a convoy. You and your sibling hopped in to our truck.
It was raining heavily. The soil begin to soften, making the path slippery. I fell down twice, thank goodness you didn't see that.
And when I sat down on the tables outside of the house, I saw a pretty boy inside. My sight was already blurry. It felt like looking at a watercolor painting. I didn't know it was you though, so I stole glances thinking, 'who is that?'
You're pretty, up close and from afar. Even with my nearsightedness.
I wonder if I get to know you, would my view change?
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