There used to be a boy
Who called me beautiful
And tapped my nose
And held my hand

He passed me notes
On crumbled pieces of paper
His writing scribbled and smudged
The traces of ink remained on his left pinky

I could feel my cheeks flame
And scolded my brain
For causing me to bite my lip
And hold my breath

I still know this boy
But he now calls her beautiful
And he taps her nose
And I catch them holding hands

And my notes have been thrown away
Tossed aside to a bin
His hand are free of ink
There are no traces of me

And now my cheeks are colorless
And my brain is unresponsive
My lips pressed in a straight line
But it is still difficult to breathe