I have one picture of you. I don’t look at it often though. It kind of hurts, you know? That one picture of you smiling with the cute animal ears.
One cute thing, you said. I sent one back and in a rare moment of confidence asked which of us was the cutest. I never could tell if your answer was honest or not, even thought it was ambiguous as anything you could have said.
It’s hard to look at someone beautiful. To see the Spanish blue eyes in a white bread girl. Midnight hair against white smoke skin. To see her picture and be no longer able to know what the curve of her neck smells like at 4 am is a draconian sentence if there ever was one.
You made it so I can’t forget. Your subtle stare did me in.