Peer Review by pretzel_time (United States)

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Lavender and Mint.

By: MarSan


Sometimes I wonder if you remember that name. Lavender and Mint. The story we promised each other and never made happen. I wrote it down on your purple notebook, sharp pencil against soft lies. I decorated it with flowers and leaves, and you murmured you'd never be able to write. So you didn't. So you don't, as far as I know. 

And yet, your eyes burn when narrating stories, polished charcoal and the endless night sky crackling inside. How many secrets do your eyes hold? What's behind them, that makes them gleam just so? There was a time in which I thought I knew, but I probably never did. Still, when I gaze into them I can only see a reflection of our first real conversation. Star-gazing, freezing, alone. Our bodies, trapped inside awkward shapes, laid side by side. What did you tell me then, Lavender? What did I say back, Mint? Those scraps of confessions are trapped inside that night and that night only. Still, a piece that I'm allowed to keep was the moment in which I turned the other cheek onto the Moon, gazing into your face instead. I whispered,

I think this changes everything. 

And you replied, hesitant as always, 

It does 

So it did. There were endless evenings spent sitting down at each other's beds, just after volleyball practice. You were the Number 11 in our ragtag team. Of course, I was 12 and even that was a small nod to a secret we shared. I was shit at it, you stayed in the team when I switched schools. I went to only one of your matches and yes, I regret it. Strands of hair were spilling out of your ponytail, teeth covered in braces. Lavender and Mint, do you know how hard it's always been to reach you? I never quite knew what you were thinking. I never quite knew what you liked and what you just pretended you did. Sometimes I wonder if I was one of those things. 

Sometimes you hurt, did you know? More than I'd like to admit. When you sew together tales of a simple life and speak of your future as a tender narrative. When you reach out your hands to my face and put me on the spot. When you announced you were studying to become a medic, and I knew all fantasies had already left the house. A medic. Firm hands, a razor-sharp mind, delicate smiles, it made too much sense. And yet, I still wonder how good you would've been off as a writer. You hurt because, in the end, it doesn't matter what you choose it will still turn my throat into a sparkler. It'll make me giddy as if I hadn't lost you long ago. As if I ever had you.

Whenever we speak, it feels like chasing fireflies. Feels like I'm too big, too blunt. Feels like holding onto threads of you. Feels like the floor beneath me is shifting and I can barely keep up. Like it all changed once more, but this time around I wasn't notified.

Lavender, do you know how beautiful you looked at your graduation party? Covered in silver, smiling like you haven't before. The flowers in your dress felt like an homage to a wilting love, your earrings reflecting our own middle school prom. We spent half the night chatting in the bathrooms' couch during that one. Maybe that was when it changed. When we took our last picture, both still in uniform and trembling with joy. This time around, we didn't bother speaking much. Perhaps everything had been said already. 

Mint, when everything's buried and left untouched, I still save a foolish spot for you. Whether I should let go or not, I don't care. I sincerely don't care, when you sound so confident nowadays. When you snort and laugh as you've always done, and when you murmur careful sentences into my ears. The feeling is not the same, and it will never be. But perhaps it doesn't matter. You're too far away for me to reach out, the breach burying deep into the ground. Sometimes, I'm lucky enough to hear from you. To see you as a stranger, hug you as anybody. 

Mint and Lavender, I'm afraid we won't have the time to get to meet each other again. And even if we did, I could only hope you'd want me back. Regardless, I want you to know I carry the memories on my back, and that I hide every little conversation under my eyelids. And although you've never been a writer, you're the first and only storyteller in me. Mind and Lavender, your charcoal eyes, your light beacons carried me forward for so long, made me wonder and made me write. So I can only wish you the most beautiful story I can conjure up. I can only capture you down in words. I can only hope you remember. 

Peer Review

The writing! Your style of writing is so delicate and smooth. It's so gorgeous. Your word choice is simply amazing.

I don't think you need to add any more details. It's good as it is.

Reviewer Comments

Formatting wise, I think you could put more sentences out on their own. I think that this piece could be formatted to be a bit less block-y, if you know what I mean.
Great job! I love reading your writing, so this was a treat to read! I wish you luck in all your next writing pursuits! :)