I painted my toenails a baby pink while you talked about her because it gave my hands something to settle on, besides cupping your perfect jaw and kissing your rosy red lips.
You told me she was beautiful and I tried to become her, eating my personality until I looked like a docile lamb in her lace dresses and liquid eyeliner, coated in her flowery perfume, pale pink lips that tasted of citrus and lies. I tried to take off even the top of my ribs and fit her soul in the branches there but, even with perfect hair and straight teeth with freckles dotting my coral cheeks, you still did not notice me.
Do you remember? At the library when the bookshelf started to collapse onto my shoulders and weighing me down, you rushed over putting your hands just beside my ears holding it back, our eyes were locked and we were so close our breath merged into one, you even considered kissing me, I seen you look at my lips. Then you backed away, was it because people were watching?
Hell, once we were at a supermarket and you were so surprised by what I said, you brought me into your arms with a swift hug while lifting me up, careful, your lips spoke and laughed; keep it up and I might fall in love.
You told me she was funny, I started cracking jokes at every opportunity that I could. You told me she was brave, I started acting reckless, you told me she was intelligent, I studied.
Trust me, and don't worry. Nothing I do will get you to love me.
