You, whose name strikes me with a mixture of dread and ecstasy. You, whose identity is a badly kept secret. You, who drifted in from across the Atlantic. You never truly fitted in here, and I guess that’s what drew me to you. You, with your black hair like raven feathers. You, with eyes like black stars that seemed to stare into my soul. Your smooth, deep American voice haunted every dream. You consumed me. I’m sorry I scared you, with my intense eyes gazing at you behind thick glasses, and my longing for you to kiss my braced mouth. I’m sorry I couldn’t hold in my feelings. They made a supernova. When your elbows touched mine in history classes, you didn’t pull away from me. Maybe you liked me? When you played your guitar in music classes, I wished you’d stroke my face like you played those strings. My heart broke, over and over, because you couldn’t feel anything like I felt for you. And I repaired it over and over, for maybe one day? It was never to be, you took a plane to the States and vanished. Now I just wonder what I could have done differently. Maybe our paths will cross again? Maybe in another life, you’ll have forgotten how nerdy, socially awkward, dowdy and hopelessly love-stricken I was back then. I’m not that girl anymore. And you know who you are.
Love from Her.
Copyright 2016 by Jen Hughes. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.
Featured Image By McKenzie Clark