I don't care about names anymore because why should I? These are my emotions and oh well if someone sees the truth that I'm too scared to speak.
Your name is Amya. I miss you as a friend but I don't honestly. You were tempting without realizing. You were this pale-olive skinned girl. Frizzy long curls that you repeatedly dyed hues of purple, pink, and red. I loved the way your reddish brown roots would bleed into the rest of your hair. You have these big brown doe eyes that are layered with years of missing sleep and acid trips.
I remember the very first time I saw you. It was in the hallway on the second floor in front of the library. We would pass one another between classes. You had these thick dark purple cat eyed glasses. The tips of your hair were soft pink, and I remember the tye dye blanket you had wrapped around your shoulders. You always looked comfy. Slippers and all.
It was awkward the first time you came over. Little did I know my then boyfriend was understandably obsessed with you. You wore this tight blue cut up Prince shirt and a pleated skirt. I gave you a skirt that day because I knew I would never wear it like you would.
One day when you spent the night, the next morning, you said you couldn't help but watch me fall asleep. "You never seen someone so peaceful"
Told me you kissed me on the forehead before you went to bed. I didn't know what to say at the time—I was too shy. I didn't know how I felt about you. I couldn't register it. I'll always appreciate the way you grinded my weed and rolled us a blunt. Packed my bowls, smoked only the corners to be polite.
You always went to the bathroom with me even if you just wanted to talk. I don't think you knew what you were doing to me. Your little dances in the bathroom when you would change while you belted out lyrics. The curve of your hips and your breasts drive me stupid.
You'd sit on the toilet while I sat in the bath. You'd have the weed and ash tray, you'd hold the blunt to my lips so I wouldn't have to dry my hands.
I didn't know and I don't think you did.
I think I loved you.
YOU ARE READING
I Remember All The Times...
Non-Fictionto everyone that has held my attention and love at least once. these are purely my thoughts , somewhat organized , that swirl throughout my head in the day.
