I met a girl when I was 15.
To this day, I have no clue if she thinks of me.
But, that’s how I am.
I remember. I wonder about what could have beens, should have beens.
But should it have been a could’ve been, if I don’t worry too much about it anymore?
Was it real?
Years later, I fall in love over and over.
Girl after girl, heartache after heartache.
The other day you messaged me.
I didn’t know you.
I didn’t know your favorite color, I didn’t know how you liked your pizza, I didn’t know the way you slept, or your dreams.
Just another girl?
But, we keep messaging, keep texting.
You make me forget what it’s like to hurt. You make me feel like I can be anything, even a fireman. I don’t want to be a fireman, but you build me up to the point that I can do anything.
But who is this girl? What makes you special? Why do I question who you are when all I think about is kissing your lips, even though I have no idea what they taste like.
I like peaches.
I bet you taste like peaches.
At 15 I didn’t know love.
I don’t think I still fully understand it, cause I’ve never truly been loved.
But, goddamn, I’ll give you the chance to show me.
I’ll throw my heart at you like it’s a football and you’re the bully from 7th grade.
I don’t know how that’s romantic, but I’d love you.
This story has no purpose, but darling, I know I do because of you.