Letter Thirteen

Dear my class crush,

I put on extra blush on the days I know you’ll look at me so it isn’t obvious how hot my face gets around you. I spray extra perfume in case that one seat right beside you is open again, and pop a piece of gum in my mouth in case I’m able to say anything more than a wave.

I’m not in middle school, but you sure as hell make me feel like I am. I have the urge to scribble your name in my red diary, detailing every single action from you that provoked an emotion in me. But instead of opening my red diary, I tell my roommates all about you– my own human diaries, the holders of every thought inside my frizzy head. They know you as well as I do, and together we pick apart what your brief hello to me might’ve meant in the long run. “This one feels different!” I convince them, and they laugh along but agree, though they’ve heard the same sentence spill out of my mouth too many times before.

It’s crazy how you can fit into every love song I’ve added to my curated playlists, as if every single one of them was written about you. My mind gets the best of me and I imagine us as if we’re in a coming of age movie, what our plot would be. But we’re just in a classroom. And you just looked at me. And I had to hide my smile.

If this isn’t more than just a crush, If you’re not the perfect person living inside of my head, I think my lungs will collapse for a week. But then they’ll rebuild themselves, and I’ll find another, until it sticks. Maybe you’ll stick.

I hope you’ll stick.

Sincerely, a lover.