I couldn’t stop myself from looking at her. I had never seen anyone more beautiful. I never understood why people couldn’t see her for who she was, fierce and independent.
Her short, dull red hair was always trailing lightly over her forehead no matter what she was doing.
Sometimes her makeup was blocky and unblended. I know now it was from inexperience at doing it but then I thought it was just part of her style.
She hated the way that her body was but I loved every curve and every stretch mark.
I let her lean on me when she wanted to cry, even though she never actually did. And even though I had never been good at comforting people.
I listened to her rants on all the snobby people she had classes with. The rude ones. The overachievers. The bullies.
I taught her everything I could about playing piano. Somehow she ended up being better at it than I ever will be.
I watched her spin and twirl with more delight than anyone I had ever seen before.
I was there the first time she dyed her hair to something she thought would match her personality more. The blue-green shade she chose was vibrant and entrancing.
But I would always love her natural color better. The simplicity made her who she was.
I looked into her eyes and saw the same fire I always believed I had in mine. At least when I was talking about something I was passionate about. Which in those days, wasn’t much.
I hoped she could see that fire too.
I fell in love with her.
And I hoped that she would love me.
I only ever kissed her once. We were playing truth or dare in one of our secret rooms.
Her boyfriend knew of my feelings. And he dared her to kiss me.
She moved over the small amount of space left between us and gave me a short peck on the cheek. He told her it wasn’t enough. So she stood and sat in my lap and pulled my face to hers.
My lips were on hers and her hands were in my hair and I never wanted that moment to end.
It’s always been my favorite kiss.
I can never tell her that.