From the girl you absolutely loved when she smiled

Ever since I discovered mustard as a young girl.

I fell in love with how the right amount of tartness danced on my tongue,

and sent goosebumps up and down my spine.

As I’ve gotten older, tart has become more bitter,

Just like my rotten, young bones.

Tart, I thought, has always been a personal favorite,

Then again, heartbreak has always been too.

I’ll share with the world how I was captivated by your blue eyes, your rough hands, and your lonely, misunderstood heart.

I’ll talk about the times we would go without talking to each other, until we crossed paths again and mouthed the words, I miss you.

I want to be the kind of woman who will write stories about us. 

I’ll endlessly ramble about the times we made love, our naked bodies invisibly bruised and scarred with each other’s kisses and touches. 

I’ll express how much we breathlessly poured I love you’s into each other’s mouths, how we really did care about each other in our own ways, and the way we made each other feel.

I want to be the kind of woman who will write stories about us,

"If I’m still yours."

Was I ever yours? How am I yours? I question these thoughts without hesitation. Were all my kisses and touches and love making I’ve given you for six years, yours?

"Because I love you." 

You tell me another inevitable and questionable statement, because deep down I do too, and then again I don’t believe it when you tell me.

No.

I wasn’t asked to be yours, and you never asked to be mine; we just assumed we were each others.

I am mine, and mine alone. We’re just two souls passing through, unfit to actually love or learn to love each other 

Mine, yours. Yours, mine.

I know the exact imprint of your lips on my lips; how they taste and even feel on my body.

Skin to skin, you’ve been inside me… or maybe even, I’ve been inside you. Sex is a glorious thing, and I’ve found my God.

I know your secrets, and you know mine. I once heard that we are all looking for someone who’s demons play well with ours, and well, I found you without even trying.

My mother always told me that when I was a baby, people would be in constant awe of my luscious, dark hair. She would exclaim, 

"If I had a penny for every time someone complimented about your hair, I would be rich." 

When I was seven years old, my dark hair would fall past my shoulders and cover my entire back. I always had a nasty habit of chewing the ends and putting bows and pony tails in it. Ah, the joys of being a little girl.

When I was thirteen, I used my long, dark hair to cover my face. I would hide behind my bangs like a curtain, only putting on a show for a few people at a time. 

When I got to high school, I played with and cut my hair in various styles. Always shocking people each school year, and leaving them asking, "Why are you always cutting your hair?"

Now that I'm almost twenty years old and in college, I have cut my hair shorter than I ever have in my life, and I am in love of it.