Sometimes, when you look at me, I feel like crying.
I know I should probably make a bigger deal about it, but I don’t know how long we've been together. I'm just not sure. More than a month, but less than three? I don’t even know. We met as friends, and then you told me you loved me. I cried a lot, but admitted I wanted to be yours.
I use four hair clips every day, because I can't stand for the hair to touch my neck, or my shoulders. Especially now that I'm trying to grow it out. Another boy told me to grow it out. You don’t like him, because I did. Maybe I still do. I'm not really sure.
I usually try to be dressed before you come to pick me up in the morning. My parents are always gone, and my sister goes with her friends. It was picture day, though, and I was wearing a blouse instead of my usual sweatshirt. It buttoned in the back, and I was having trouble. When you knocked on the door, I yelled for you to come upstairs. When you saw me standing there, I heard you gasp a little. It surprised me. We had been intimate with each other, though not very much. But you had seen me shirtless before, and even without my bra on once. I didn’t understand.
Later you told me that you just stubbed your toe on the doorjamb. I cried a little that night. I thought it meant you didn’t love me.
That morning you told me you were lying. You said the way the black buttons contrasted against my skin made you lightheaded, made you want to pick me up, and spin me around and kiss me. But by then it was time for class, and the bell had shaken the feeling out of both of us.
You said "I love you" more times than I did. And you always believed that you loved me more. My friends worried at first, did I really mean it? Of course not, I reassured them. It’s just what we say. But I'm pretty sure I did mean it. Or at least I meant to mean it.
You always worried about me, way too much. But I liked it. You liked it when I worried about you, too. I’m pretty sure you always thought you weren’t good enough for me and I'm sorry about that.
One time, we were walking home from school. And you just stopped, and you looked at the sky, and you asked me if I'd marry you. And I stopped, and I looked at you and I giggled. But you looked sad, you looked heartbroken. So I wrapped myself in your arms, and I nuzzled into your chest, and I told you I would. And you were happy again, so we continued walking. That night, I stayed in your bed, fully clothed, but held tightly against you. My dreams were the sweetest they’d ever been.
You’d always make fun of me, because I loved Taylor Swift, but didn’t know the words. I would sing then hum, sing then hum. You’d laugh, but I would pout, and you would hug me, and it would be okay.
We both liked history, and we were bad at math. You could never help me with my homework, but I was always curious about yours. My life was hard, and yours was harder. But it was okay.
When I blew out the candles, I wished for you. I wished I could sing to you, but I was afraid I’d be bad. So instead I settled for writing it all down. But I wonder whether that was a good idea. What if one day you read this? I think that would be okay. I’d still love you, you’d still love me.
But…what if something changed?