In love with a photograph.

It was bright outside, meaning it was time to escape the sun. A small figure with a hat walked towards the great oak doors, the familiar entrance to the shaded place. With her head tilted forward, great bangs covered her face as she lifted a hand to pull open the door. A beam of sunlight followed her in, and quickly diminished into a small ray as the door swung closed behind her. The floor was covered with the softest carpet imaginable, so she quickly slipped off her shoes. She walked forward slowly, dragging her feet as she moved forward. She enjoyed the tickling feeling between her toes as she did this. She made her way to and up the spiral staircase, moving so quickly and smoothly she seemed to be gliding. Another set of oak doors was at the top of the landing; she leaned in with all her strength to push them open. The circular room before her had a ceiling of glass panels, letting in a flood of sunlight. To her right was a silver cord which she pulled, causing curtains to billow over the panels, and making the light more bearable. In the center of this room was a crate overflowing with stuffed toys. More specifically, bunnies. They were all different colors, but were the softest things to the touch. Their ears were long and floppy, she loved to take the ears and rub them across her cheeks. She ran to the box, and began throwing out bunnies left and right. At the bottom was a white one, with an eye missing. She took this one by the paw, then headed to the back wall. There was a small bed against this wall, with several photographs hanging over it. Most of the photographs were of the young girl, doing various things. On a swing, flying a kite, sitting in a field of flowers. In the center was a picture of a young boy, perhaps her own age, with a fishing pole in his left hand. He was wearing a hat, but barely. It seemed that right after the picture was taken that it probably fell off. In his right hand was the smallest fish the girl had ever seen, and despite this undeniable fact, he smiled as if he'd caught the biggest fish in the pond. For hours she would sit on the bed, bunny in lap, staring at this singular picture. She didn't know the boy, for she found the picture outside one day, floating along in the breeze. There was nothing on the back of the photograph except a date. April first. She often laughed at the fact how happy he seemed to have caught that fish on a day like day. There were times she dreamed of what it would be like to meet the boy, what she would do or say. One day she left a picture of herself in the same place she found his, and when she came back the next day it was gone. Now she spent her time wondering if he had found the picture, and if, just maybe, he decided to keep it on the wall over his own bed, with the same feelings she had from keeping his.