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An Open Letter...
To the boy with the crooked smile and floppy hair. I saw you in a tea shop on Museum St, in the heart of Bloomsbury, London. I believe it was called Ruskin’s Cafe. You sat with your parents, and your little sister. You ordered what looked like a black tea and a scone. The same thing I ordered. You drank it quietly and slowly, staring into it as if it could show you your future. Every once and a while you took a bite of the scone, eating only a minimal amount. You acted as if it was the only thing you would eat in the next few days. It was almost as if you were scared. My friends were laughing and talking, you went unnoticed, but I saw you. You barely eating, you with a scared look on your face, you avoiding confrontation. Your parents stop fussing with your sister and turned to you. It looked like they started shouting, and you sank a little lower in your seat. I looked down at my tea thinking about my family back home. You looked at me and gave me a small smile as if to say, “You get it right?”. Your parents looked in my direction and then told you off for being interested in an American. I smiled back at you. At that moment you seemed small.
A few days later I saw you again, at a museum. You were across the queue, with your family again. Your parents were shouting again. You glanced around at the faces in the queue and found mine. We locked eyes and I gave you a mischievous smile. You smiled back and then faced your parents yelling. I heard the word American, and they pointed at me. I turned away giving you some privacy. Then I heard a small voice say stop it and before I could hear anything else I’m let into the museum. Somehow my small smile gave you courage from across the queue, and you no longer seemed small. Inside by the Easter Island Statue, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I turned around to find you. You thanked me, and then gave me a hug. I never learned your name or saw you after that, but I don’t know if I really want to. To me, you will be the boy from the tea shop. The one with the floppy hair and crooked smile.
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It's about someone I met in London.