‘Can I trust you with my life? Can I believe that you’ll take every bit of me, exposed to you, and cherish it
with your life?
Can I open myself, and show you all my nooks and crannies?
Could you become intoxicated with the scent of me for as long as you can?
Could you take all this and hold it in your hands, and keep it safe, and place it on your chest?
I shake my head and come back to the present. The boy who was juggling tennis balls was too focused on his impromptu act. This was the most exciting thing that had happened to me all week in this boring place, at this boring time;
when I was a preteen and just absolutely stuck
in the middle
of growing up, freedom, girlhood, womanhood, whatever.
Stuck in a different land
stuck in this body.
Stuck in this time.
The boy who juggled tennis balls didn’t look at me. ‘Was it even tennis balls?’ He was some random boy I had run into who was around my oddball age, and therefore, I had immediately felt hopeful. I basically never ran into random boys.
He probably thought I was just some every-other person who was mesmerized by his lame trick, but I was just basically paying attention to him.
I probably lied and said, “Cool” and then left the scene, ’cause how else was a girl who had a crush on some random boy she only met a few seconds supposed to act?
Well, I still remember that instance; an instance that absolutely nobody on earth, including him, would ever ever recall.
I was so desperate then.
Am I less desperate now?
Can’t stop this fire?