You were wearing purple today. Purple is going to be ×××'s color now. But blue has always been mine. That's how I knew I was ready to give you that letter. You were wearing my color...

Your eyes were a brighter blue today. After you came in from having a cigarette, you walked past me, then paused. Coffee and tobacco smoke. That's what you smelled like. That's my smell now.

"Just under a minute," I said. I lied. I didn't want you to feel like I waited too long.

You laughed. "I don't waste time with those things. Anyway, when did your mom say she was going to be here?"

I looked at the clock. It read 3:45. "3:30. She's never on time."

You laughed again. You were nervous. You would never admit that to me, but you were nervous.

I wanted to hug you. But I couldn't. Cameras. Walking. Purple. Blue is my color. Not purple.

Cigarette smoke, coffee, and laundry detergent are my smells. Your sloppy grin and your breathy giggles are my joy. You are my hope.

My hope is not the lobby of the school. My hope is not nervous laughs, shaky hands, and raised eyebrows. My hope is not the sound of a jazz band and the smell of pinesol.

My hope is secluded. My hope is revisited every morning. My hope is not a one time thing. My hope turned around and came back for me.

When you pulled out of that parking lot, lit your Marlboro red with your matching fire engine bright Bic lighter, you read the first 4 lines at the stop light two blocks away and turned around. Because you love me. And you were afraid I was leaving you that day. And I was going to. But you came back and suffocated me in love and silky blue. And you are my hope.

My hope talks for hours and never runs out of things to say. My hope says I love you without words. My hope plays music when the right things won't leave his mouth. My hope is like a father to me.

My hope is not rushed. My hope isn't sideways glances to see if anyone's listening. My hope isn't secrets and lies to cover things up.

My hope is my truth.

My hope has never been lied too.

My hope is movie references and dad jokes. You are my hope. And from now on all I'll ever want is to be surrounded by hope. I want to be yours. I want to be loved and appreciated.

I want to be near the son you always talk about, because maybe for once I'll have a brother who cares.

One who would never rape me.

I want a mother who listens. Not one who calls me a liar.

I want a father I can talk to and disagree with. Not one that yells and swears and tells me I'm horrible and I'm wrong.

I want you. I want what you have. Because compared to you, I have nothing.

But I have blue.

You're blue.

I have hope. I have your time.

B u t   t i m e   i s   r u n n i n g   o u t .

There are only 18 more days.

What are we going to do?

What am I going to do?

I can't lose you.

Three months. Seems small, but surrounded by my family, it's a lifetime.

There has to be a way.

I.

Need.

You.

Even if it's wrong.

You're my teacher, after all. But I don't want you to risk your job.

You're my teacher. Not my parent.

You're my teacher. Not who I need you to be.

 

Not who I want you to be.

 

I don't want you to turn into her version of you.

I don't want my blue to become purple.

 

What am I going to do when my blue turns into purple?