Still British

I woke up at six thirty that Sunday. That was really late, for me. And so, I cleaned up. No, it was not me punishing myself for getting up late. It was me, starting my birthday ritual. I turned on one of my favourite songs, one that totally defines me, which, this year, was Collision of Worlds, and cleaned up. Then I sat on my rug, with my box of English stuff, and I went through it. I always cried. Always. Then, I stretched, played, and read. That was pretty much all I’d do on my birthday. I loved it. It was perfect.
So, I was done with all of that, and I picked up a book, Doctor Zhivago. I was just starting it, again, because if I was going to read all day, I wasn’t going to stop to pick up a new book. I was really enjoying it, but then the doorbell rang. I looked up, it was, like, ten thirty, and I knew where everybody was. Mum: Garden; Dad: Cricket; Siblings: Videogames. It happened regularly. This was a classic weekend for us, it just also happened to be my birthday. Whatever. The doorbell rang again. My iPod was still going, on a White Eskimo song now… Ewww, Dad’s been on my playlist again… The doorbell rang again, and I got up to answer it, knowing nobody else would. It rang again. I opened the door.
“Well?” I said, a bit pissed, as I was reading. The boy… he was so familiar… The parade! That’s where he’s from… he was in the centre of the crowd! “Never mind.” I said, closing the door, but he caught it.
“Essa…” He said, and that did it. I burst into tears, turning from the door. It’s him, my Harry. And that did it. I had to go cry some more. I just walked away, door open, Harry standing there. Dad was at the top of the steps, he’d sort it. I needed to go do something.
I didn’t hear the conversation, but I did hear that a conversation was going on. I didn’t care, I couldn’t. I went into my room, grabbed my guitar, turned off my iPod, and sat on my floor, under my barre. I strummed and sang, and the song formed itself. My iPod recorded it, and I knew I’d never delete it, even though I’d never listen to it again. I hated my singing. Especially recorded.
I was so into it that I didn’t hear the door open. I didn’t notice him walk across my room, sit down under my desk, and watch me sing. I was crying too much. When I finished, I just set my guitar down next to me. I kept crying, but I noticed the movement this time. A dark shape stood from under my desk and approached. I just let it, hardly caring about what they’d just witnessed. I just cried.

Notes

Hi! I've come to a decision! I'm going to attempt to update every Sunday *Note the word attempt* It might be every other, or if I get a ton of comments or stuff asking me to update before that. I'll try.
Thanks for reading, and giving me opinion on the writing!
xoxo
~Stormy