I always look down, instead of looking up, I always look down at the feet on the ground, for unknown to anyone, there are feet that I look for everyday since the start of my school, and upon that ground I find my anchor to save me from what I may do.

After the second bell I race out of my seat, I rush out of the room, and then walk down the hall quietly. I look down at the ground, at the people’s feet. Yet a certain pair of feet do I seek. Every day without fail after that second bell I see them round the corner and walk near me.

A pair of bright red laces, tied up in a knot, a pair of bright red laces that slowly managed to twist my heart.

And as they get closer I feel my pulse race, unbeknownst to everyone I start to flush in the face. My checks fill, like the color that I loved, and sweat starts to come, in little tiny drops.

The laces get closer and closer to me. And like my daily ritual I start to deeply breathe.

Then they pass by. Not knowing the affect they invoke or why. They pass by, yet each day they still give me hope.

I dare not look at the face. To look up while I walk. For if I do the ritual will break, and I fear that my red laces may be lost.