According to the diaries,
The first time I held someone’s hand and a million cocoons came alive at once,
It was with a boy who only almost wanted me,
On a date I only almost wanted to be on,
With friends I only almost trusted.
According to the diaries,
The first time I leaned so close to someone I thought that maybe
A magnet had gotten stuck between my lips and was pulling me to theirs,
It was with the same boy,
On the same night,
In the same movie theater,
The same tears streamed down my face,
As this boy told me about the way our lungs must breath for each other,
He was so certain
About how I must have been made to fit into him.
According to the diaries,
There was not a day in the sixth grade that I held the hand of a girl shaped volcano,
Feeling as if I was about to erupt
Because of how warm her palm was, and how soft her hair was,
And how when she squeezed my hand,
I forgot all the times she had left me a hollow statue of myself.
According to the diaries,
She did not lean so close to me on that evening.
She did not grin at me as if the night sky was tangled in my hair,
And I did not wait a second too long staring at the mouth
I knew would destroy me.
According to the diaries,
On the date I only almost wanted to be on,
With the boy who was only almost good,
I did not only almost fail to stop myself from wishing I was holding her hand, instead.
I only almost knew that it shouldn’t hurt this much to love a girl,
And I only almost stopped myself from loving her anyways.