My first love was a girl with long brown hair and soft doe eyes
who liked to show her midriff and hide her creative writing.
At first she was a smile in the morning,
a favorite class where we would cry laughing
at how fucking ugly Juliette Lewis was in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape,
she never mentioned the safety pins I covered my clothes in that I felt were holding me together
and she always kept a lighter in her glovebox in case I needed it.
We were fifteen.
The nights we were too young to be drunk
but too old to be at a playground
where we would lay on the grass and she’d tell me that we would get out of here,
We’d skip from town to town for a real long time,
but we’d give them all different names
I would be Dallas and she would be Jade-
Iggy and Ruth, Samantha and CeCe,
we just never wanted to be ourselves.
She was the first person to really hold my hand,
she taught me what love actually is.
And when she fell in love, real love, not barefoot runs after the ice cream truck, too old to trick or treat love
with someone else,
she left a hole in my heart the shape of the fire that destroyed her childhood home.
She’s lost the body she could show off but I hear she’s a creative writing major,
and there are nights I lay awake and wonder if I’ll ever know her again or if I’ll ever be okay.