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Second Chances and Cherry Sodas
I have big feet. I don't know why I told you that. I just want you to know. I want you to know everything about me so you can understand. Okay, that is a lie. How could you possibly understand? I want you to know everything about me so you wont realize things halfway through and then change your mind. I'm bad with that- changing my mind. I always think someone is perfect until I find one flaw and then I think they are awful. It doesn't make any sense really, because I have flaws, lots of them, wrapped up in lists in the deepest cavern of my mind. I have everything in lists you see. They are created from a lifetime spent in my head. Indecisive, stubborn, picky. Those are your flaws. Shall we look at mine?
I'm always racing to my next idea, my next thought, because I'm scared of that empty silence; I'm scared of boring you. Am I boring you?
The other day I bought shoes for my big feet. You came over to my house and not once did you try to kiss me, so the next day I went out and bought shoes that make my feet look small. They were sneakers, blue, and when the lady at the counter asked if I wanted white or black laces I said black, even though I knew they were going to get dirty. My mother scolded me for buying my sneakers. She said I looked like a tomboy. But my mother says a lot of things. I wore my sneakers on the bus and you didn't say anything, so I thought you hated them. And when I went home I cried a little because my sneakers were on sale, which meant non refundable. But a few days later you saw me skipping cracks on the lunch hour and you smiled and said 'nice sneakers' and I think I loved you right then.
Why is is that every time I'm around you I want to dance in my sneakers and where long yellow dresses and sing at the top of my lungs? I can't dance or sing, but neither can you, so maybe we could be beautiful together.
I could be your Wonderwoman; your Robin Hood. Just where ever you go, please take me with you. I'll travel in your overstuffed backpack with those empty water bottles and comic books, and that George Orwell novel I know you have hidden under your gym shorts. We'll go biking, since I know you hate cars, and we'll camp on the beach like a couple of hippies. And maybe on our journey to nowhere we will save an injured bird, or get so close to a deer that we have to hold our breaths. Maybe one day you will decide to kiss me.
I wonder what you taste like; in the rain; after drinking a cherry soda; while watching a scary movie. There is so many things I wonder about you. Like why you never talk about your father, or why you snap your fingers while walking through a crowd, or why you never tell me any secrets. I'll tell you my secrets. I'll tell you anything if you want to listen.
Everything about you is flawless; imperfect. We are polar opposites, you and I. You fill your head with facts and equations and I fill mine with poetry and art. You like answers. I like possibilities. The possibility that dreams mean something, the possibility of ESP, the possibility that one day you could love me.
I hope that when your best friend asks you 'is it serious?' you will say yes, and when you walk me home your wishing we had just a few more minutes to say goodbye. I hope you feel something, anything, for the girl who wastes all her shooting stars and 11:11's on you.
And I know I always try to make everything sound lovely, but it's not. We are a confusing mess and some days I don't even think you're worth it. I have this little ticking noise in my head that says 'no,no,not again.' But I want to again. I want to fall-fall hard for you. I want to spend the rest of my life listening to your nonsensical jokes and useless facts and second guessing my affection for you. I want to give you the most colourful life imaginable, and all I ask for in return is your half-baked promises and crooked smile.
We can spend our summers eating Gummi Bears by the lake and our winters trapped inside listening to Mozart. You'll warn me that I'm looking too pale and I'll worry that you're too skinny and we will laugh so hard our cheeks will hurt.
And if I ever have the right moment, I'll tell you how I liked you from the start. And if you don't feel the same, my heart might break a little, but it won't be earth shattering because by now I know how to pick up the pieces.
I'm dying, I'm dying. A horrible torturous death like the characters in your action novels. You tempt and tease me with that earthy cologne and your sea green eyes. And it kills me because I don't want to be friends. Can't we be lovers? We can be secret, we can be open; we can kiss at the back of a movie theatre or make love on an empty beach. With you, I don't care where I am or what we do. I don't care that I am failing math, or that I have a weird shape birthmark on the back of my leg. With you I don't care if people don't like my novels or listen to my poems because you showed me that some people just don't like to read, and that's okay. With you, all I want to do is write meaningless romance stories and paint and listen to music with too much piano. With you, I don't even mind that I have big feet.