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September 16, 2014

You are the permanent ink smudges on my right pinky finger from writing. Sticking yourself in the cracks of my hand so we can touch the world together.
Do you ever think about the way we affect each other?
I mean, do you know that my knees wobble when I walk towards you, hoping you’ll catch me when they finally give way? Have you ever noticed that I like to watch you live your life out of the corner of my left eye, sitting in a gray desk, putting your hours and minutes into the slot machine, hoping you’ll walk away with a future? Can you tell that I overthink the things you do? Do you over think me too?
I told my best friend, over the summer of my junior year, that I had a feeling. Someone beautiful would waltz into our high school, the high school in the town that no one ever moves to, and that someone, for some reason, would want me out of all the other girls. Can I tell you a secret? I pray each night for that someone to be you.
I knew you before I knew you. The first day we met, I asked you, “Do you play baseball?”
You said yes.
“How did you know?” you asked.
“I don’t know, you just look like a baseball player I guess.” I said, watching your smile wonder about me while I wondered about you, separated by a desk with that one guy in it.
I cracked open the yearbook after that, searching up and down for you. You weren’t there, and when I got on Twitter later, I saw that someone had retweeted something you said. Naturally, I surfed around your page and I found little pieces of your personality on my phone screen. You were new, from a town a few miles away. You liked Jesus just as much as me, and that made my heart happy. You played baseball, and I felt silly for telling you I hated sports. But somehow, I felt like you liked that. Maybe, different things are good things that just look like bad things. Kinda like rollercoasters, you think, hell no I’ll never ride that, but when you do, it’s pretty fun.
You don’t say much, do you?
I look at you, prying for words with my eyes, but you don’t really talk. I don’t know why though. And you should know, if you ever wanted to talk, I would love to listen.
It seems like you have a lot to talk about too. I want you to tell me about all the things that make you want to be quiet, all the reason you’re holding back.
I think you want to hold my hand, hold my heart, or maybe just my backpack in the halls. I make sure to tuck my hair behind my ear when I know you’re looking, so you’ll see my bare neck and want to cover it with you. Is it not working? Am I trying too hard? Or am I just not what you wanted?
I remember that time you stretched back in your desk, bending back so I’d see the band of your boxers against your toned stomach. I did, and it was great, until a screw popped out of place and half the seat caved in on one side. It forced your arms down and your shirt over the boxers you’d secretly shown me. It was cute the way you tried to screw it back in place with scissors, and it was cuter when you couldn’t do it so you asked our female teacher for help. But she failed too, so you weren’t too embarrassed.
Can you just stop me in the halls, push me against a wall, and kiss me already. I know you want to, or maybe that’s just me wanting it so badly I’m convinced you want it too. Either way, can you just do it? Pretty please? I promise I’m not a bad kisser, well I don’t think I am. For you, I’ll try really hard not to bite your lip or anything.
I just want all to skip over the steps and end up at the part where you’re holding me on my couch, we’re not really watching the movie that’s one, we’re watching each other. Let’s skip to thanksgiving and I’ll bake your mom a pumpkin pie, and at my family’s Christmas party, you can wear a purple tie, I have a feeling purple is your color. I want you to send me pictures over spring break while I’m in Cancun and you’re at the batting cages. Let’s fast forward to prom, I’ll wear a pretty dress and you can buy me flowers, if you really want to.
Is it bad that I want it to go so quickly? Is the middle really the good part, or do they just tell you that so you don’t get bored? You don’t bore me, but still, I just want to taste you already. Like pregnant women crave pickles, I crave you.
You’re really handsome, and I don’t use that word lightly. I love that the ugly burnt orange of that one university looks good against your creamy beige skin. And even though Rock Revival jeans are so last year, you pull them off because… well, I don’t know why, but you do. And that smile, oh honey that smile is what makes me smile too, even when I’ve already heard that joke and it wasn’t even funny the first time.
I have a question dear? I know that I’m not changing to make you like me, but are you? Do you usually make snarky comments or did you do that so I’d think you were cool? Is it a habit to take everyone’s notebooks to the bin for them, or did you want me to think you were a gentleman? Do you run ahead of me to class so I’ll see you walking confidently and trust you to guide me? Because darling, I just want you to walk next to me, and I wouldn’t mind if we got lost, not if we’re together.
It’s Friday and I guess I’ll have to wait until Monday to see you, unless you’re at the football game tonight. In that case, I’ll look for you in the stands. Hopefully, you’ll ask the person next to you why I’m running around with a camera, freezing the moments for the future. They’ll tell you why and it’ll make you think I’m cute and professional, then you’ll want me more.
If you are there, walk me to my car after the game, I’m leaving after the second quarter because I need to rest up for the ACT I take tomorrow. I’ll flirt with you a little bit and thank you, and maybe you can ask me to go to Homecoming with you. It doesn’t have to be lavish either, just ask me, that’s all I want.
I’ll let you explain the game to me without telling you I already know what a fumble is. You can feel smart and I’ll hold your hand, then I can feel giddy like I already do without ever having touched you.
I know this is a lot to ask of you, but it’s the least you can do. I’ve been waiting here forever, tapping my foot impatiently as I turned down dates and offers for kisses, knowing you’d get here soon. And now that I’ve got you, let’s get this show on the road. I don’t have all day, you know? So can you just kiss me already?
Tell you what, let’s make a deal. If you give me a kiss, I’ll give you one too.
Deal? 
Or no deal?
 






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GillianLegaspiBorromeo This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Sept. 27, 2014 at 11:25 am
I pray for mine too. xx
 
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