letter to a girl like me
Asha Fletcher-Irwin
 
 
between losing your baby teeth and finding vodka in the closet,
you must remember thinking you were in love with him;
he was blue eyes and perfect test scores
you were laughter and round cheeks, together you were
dreams and colored pencil rebellion
you wanted to break something like
a chair or like a boy’s heart
and his was just closest
and you’re still not sure whether you were trying to break
his innocence or yours

he was enough even if you never kissed him
you were almosts
and what-ifs
and that was always enough, not just adequate but your own
sort of perfection
buck teeth and bagels and bitter coffee after school
you had plans for forever and Paris and whispers
of how the truth could be built from bottles and promises
and other things that can be broken
the truth is fragile, you know
and it’s amazing your clumsiness hasn’t shattered it already

both of you were too young to make decisions but too old
to remember how to forget and thought
love meant calling him your savior in
long winded poetry about his eyes
and he used to say he wanted to be someone else
after he grew out of ugly sweaters and newspaper hats
and writing stories about ants at picnics

between reading picture books and using sheets as cocoons to transform between
you remember thinking you were in love with him
searching the floor for hidden novels to bring you away
because somewhere at the end of eighth grade you became the girl
with frowns and rounded edges
but he could always bring you back to being the girl who thought
the city was layered in fairy dust if you could find it

almost isn’t enough anymore
you want to become addicted to forgetting that maybe
you hate the world
and want to be lost one more time in remembering
how you used to think you loved him
 
 
←     →