Dearest,

The stood with their backs to the pale blue wall.  School had ended for the day, commencing time spent alone, writing nonsense that teachers think instills knowledge into still-forming brains.  The young man; a blond-haired thinker, slowly reached for the girl's slender hand as silence intruded the area of cement and staircases.  Hands clasped together now, they stood; few words spoken, for they had all been told before.  With her unheld hand she handed the boy a package: plain brown box, encircled in pale, white twine.  "This is for you," she spoke soft as a whisper, afraid of the silence surrounding them now.  He took the box from her, and began to untangle the twine; he wished to see what the gift held.  As the lid of the box was lifted by his slightly tanned hand he spotted a heart.  Carved from wood, he noticed; pale wood as she had told him she favored.  Smile on his friendly face, he turned to her, a thank-you forming on his lips; he fought the urge to kiss her; the fact was unknown of how she would react.  Where she had stood was only silence, no long-haired friend, no trusted confidant.  Sadness welled behind his eyes; why would she abandon him?  He turned the corner, eyes frantically searching, and spotted her, long hair streaming, long legs running, away, away from him.  Then he spotted the note, beneath the hand-hewn gift.  It read in her elegant, flowing script,"I give you my heart.  I trust you with the safekeeping."