This was in my drafts?

"He's a sloucher."
That was my very first though of him. He was sitting on a bench hunched over drawing in an old raggedy sketchbook with the tip of his tongue barely peeking out of the corner of his mouth and one eyebrow raised. I remember admiring the fact that in a park filled with tons of people, he was still so concentrated on his "masterpiece." I guess, we had that in common because all I could concentrate on was him.
"Dylan. Dylan, what are you staring at?"
I scattered my eyes around to try and find something somewhat interesting.
"Those two dogs over there are doing it."
Of course, Andy laughed. Andy was my boy of about a year. He had asked me to make it official several times, but I could never bring myself to do it. He was a good guy and all, but he never really did anything out of the normal. He was clean, smart, humorous, and wealthy. Andy was everything my mother wanted in a man, and since she never found it, she left it up to me to marry him. I wasn't going to marry Andy. I could not marry Andy. I didn't know where it was going, but I knew that I didn't mind his company. Therefore, we would go on these little outings such as today to the park for a picnic.
"Ha ha. You're such a pervert. Sometimes I think part of your brain is that of a 13 year old boy's. You are 23, right?" Andy could be a dick.
"hmmph thanks."
He got up and proceeded to throw a frisbee to Lady, his mother's Labrador. Now that the dog had distracted him my eyes focused back on the stranger. He was still focusing intently on his drawing, but now he looked so puzzled. It was almost as if he was looking at something completely foreign and obscene. I wanted to know so badly what was on this piece of paper, but I knew myself and I knew I wouldn't muster up the courage to walk right over and ask. And so, I sat there and watched him contemplate the work of art. The nibbling of his fingernails, and the concerned look in his eye made him seem as if he wasn't very open to outsiders, but what do I know. I watched his mouth gnaw at his nails and his eyes flutter around the page for a while before he noticed. When he finally did see me I made no effort to turn away or break eye contact. I didn't feel like I needed to. We stared at each other for a while, scoping each other out I guess you could say. Kind of how dogs do when they're first introduced. I don't know how long this went on before, slowly, the corners of his mouth began to rise and his cheeks began to flush.
"Aw, he's blushing?!"
My face began to follow suit. Shy smiled and red cheeked we stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before Andy came back.

Poem I wrote in 7th grade

"Music of Our Lives"

A gentle whisper,
A shout of joy,
The sound of a proposal by a boy.

A harsh slap,
An infant's cry,
A mother's scream with a tear in her eye.

A shot fired,
A siren coming to assist,
The breath of a man wishing this event, he had missed.

Screams of pain,
Sighs of relief,
A smack upon a baby's cheek.

All of these noises in one combined
Make a never-ending opera.
The music of today;
The music of our lives.