by Sheridan F., 15 (she/her)
i haven’t thought about you in a while.
that sounds mean, but i think it’s okay,
because i don’t think you’ve thought about me ever.
again, not trying to be nasty.
i’m not upset about it.
we never knew each other.
i just stared at you with moon-eyes from across the room while you went about your life.
we never knew each other,
but it didn’t matter.
it didn’t matter because you smiled with all your teeth,
and the corners of your eyes crinkled a bit when you laughed,
and your voice was raspy like gravel but you sang so nicely,
and i was wrapped around your finger even though you’d never glanced my way.
i never told anyone about you.
i’d never liked a girl the way i liked you before.
i didn’t understand it. it frightened me.
so i stashed it away somewhere in my head
and didn’t touch it again.
(well, that’s not true.
i touched it a little.
a little, and often.
i couldn’t help myself.)
i still haven’t told anyone about you.
not because i’m frightened anymore—
i understand now. i’ve liked plenty of girls.
i guess i’m just not ready to tell anyone.
i guess a part of me likes it being my thing.
a love just for me.
still, occasionally, i feel bad.
you did so much for me, and no one knows.
not even you.
without you, i might never have explored my own murky depths,
never unlocked my own secrets.
and i’m grateful.
in the dusty, cobwebbed, long untouched corners of my mind,
you’ll always be important to me.
Washington D.C.
Bridge Ink 