#lerries

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The first time I saw you was the very first day of school. You walked right up to me with a certain kind of swagger it must’ve taken years to perfect.  You were easily the type of girl who could get anybody and do anything, but you walked right up to me. “I’m Leigh Anne Pinnock,” you said simply, not even bothering with a proper greeting. Your eyes were really brown, the color of chocolate on valentines day. Your hair was black, but i could see brown roots underneath. “I’m Perrie Edwards” I said nervously, giving you a small smile. And that smile led to another and another. And the smiles led to our first kiss. Because you loved me, Leigh. And I loved you right back. — Sometimes you’d come to school not being yourself. You were usually all smiles and laughs, but I know no one is happy all the time. So I would just accept it, I’d try to cheer you up the best I could. I’d let you copy my homework or I’d make jokes about all of our teachers, hoping to make you smile. But none of them ever worked on those days, on those days you were extra fragile. I took extra care of you, Leigh. I did. One time I noticed someone wrote nasty things about you on your locker about you liking girls and being gay. I skipped class to wash it off so you wouldn’t see. It didn’t come off all the way, the marker was dark and permanent. I think you saw the faded letters on the green paint of the door. You were so fragile on those days, Leigh. You were like a piece of glass that I wanted to keep in my pocket to keep safe. But Leigh, when we’d hold hands in the hallway and we’d pass by some people, you’d drop my hand like it was fire. Sometimes people would call you things, call us things. They would make your smile falter. They would hurt you in a way that sometimes only I saw, Leigh. I could feel the cracks starting  to cut across the smooth glass. Across you, Leigh. My little piece of glass. Everyone thought they knew all about us and who we were. All those kids at school would just call us those ‘two lesbo lover girls’. I hated them for saying that. It put cracks in you, my little piece of glass. But, they didn’t know anything. They don’t know anything, Leigh, because they are not us. We are not them. Sometimes I’d write you little poems, Leigh. I’d leave them in the locker vents or in your history textbook. I’d watch your stick brown eyes dance over the paper or napkin or whatever I’d written my words on. Your eyes would light up, Leigh. Except one time, another boy saw you reading in class and he snatched it out of your hand. He read my words. “You are like glass. It’s beautiful and delicate. At any second, it could break.  But as long as I keep our love safe, you’ll be beautiful and unbroken.” And the boy laughed, ripped the paper in pieces and tossed it in our faces. “Dr. Faggot the Poet and her lover girl Blackie” he spat. I still remember the words, Leigh. I remember because I saw how they hurt you. They put a big crack in my beautiful piece of glass. Do you know what happens when glass gets too many cracks? It breaks. —-