Last night, I didn’t sleep.
Even though my eyelids fluttered, butterfly wings, I still kept them open, watching from my pillow as you danced around your bedroom. We are neighbors, you know, and your window was open. I guess I’ve reached a new level of ‘creepy.’
Anyway, you must have just gotten out of the shower, ‘cause your hair was all wet. No, of course I didn’t watch you change—now that would be creepy. Sure, I did peek, but only for a millisecond, nothing longer.
The thing is, with other girls, their face is plowed with make-up everyday, it’s like walking through a fucking circus. But, with you, when your face was washed, you looked practically the same as every other day; and that’s a compliment.
While I was watching, I began talking, to thin air, pretending you could hear me through the glass, night air, and curtains.
I said, “I’m breaking. My whole body shakes, and I can’t find the words to describe how I feel about you. There’s something seriously wrong with me, but, even if I have gone coo-coo, there’s no doctor to heal me. Only my pencil and eraser, and you—” or something corny and completely nonsensical like that. If my sister heard me, she’d probably freak.
But it was true, every word.
I think you’re the only one to keep me sane.
