|
I remember thinking—she’s different.
She’s graceful. An outcast drifting beyond the net where the rest of us learned to swim. I remember her every angle walking down the sloped green lawn the trail of her silk black hair tied to the wind laughing a secret song. Maybe she’d love me. Show me how to grow into my heart before I learned to run from it. That we’d fold like curtains to hold the morning for ourselves. It wasn’t long before I asked her to the dance. Even less time passed before she said, no. I guess that’s why it’s called a crush A lesson in loving and letting go. |
