You never gave me a second glance; me, fifteen years old with freckled cheeks, a state of constant nervousness, and a body so flat and thin, I’d practically disappear behind a flagpole. You, with your cerulean oceans for eyes, the perfect joke for every moment, and the ability to pluck my damn heart like guitar strings. I’d sing a song for you every night. But you never heard it. Darling, you never even tried to listen.
You looked at me, but you chose to see something else; me, seventeen years old with freckled cheeks, a deceased father, and clinging to a slowly dimming light. You, with deep, brown eyes that undressed me without my permission. You saw wounded passion. I saw hope. I saw the glimmer of something everlasting, right as I learned life wasn’t.
You touched me, but pulled away when I reached to meet you; me, twenty years…
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