It was Saturday afternoon when I first saw her. Her family had moved into the house next door during the morning. She was 9 years old and had a 16-year-old sister as well as a widowed mother. Her father, I was later told, died when she was eight. That’s why they moved from Sydney to Melbourne: to escape bad memories.
After my mum had a chat with the new neighbors, she told me the little girl’s name was Lily Jenkins. Mum jokingly teased me about being curious over a 9-year-old, but, after a moment of nervousness, I laughed it off—and so did she.
Lily was barely four feet tall. She and her sister were both attractive girls, but Lily, I must say, was very beautiful. Her long brown hair framed a face that held two large, bright eyes. Everything about her was perfect: her small pink lips, her dimply cute bubbly grin, her little nose, and those big wide eyes that made her look so awake and fresh. Over time, I noticed that she didn’t smile much and often seemed depressed—but when she did smile, for me her happiness was like a cure for depression.(Want more give me thumbs)
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- 16 years, 8 months, 9 days ago
