The way he held me made me realize

That perhaps I was capable of feeling something like love. 

Not the sappy, uniformed kind;

some raw, passionate almost illegal sort of love.

When he looked at me,

with my tanned skin and bleached blonde hair,

the mild bumps on my forehead shadowed by that powder I used all summer,

he saw some kind of untapped beauty.

Untouched, yet willing to be touched. 

Does that make sense?

Whatever he desired, I did too. 

And when we laughed and rolled around,

with half of our clothes spralled on the ground, 

and the other half miracuosly still on us, however twisted,

we both felt this magic kind of passion,

the kind that shuts off really fast.

Like when you throw a lit match unto a pool of gasoline.

That was our love.

Fast, over quickly, and not real.

But was it real?

Is fire aided by gasoline not real, just like love aided by the summer?

Why can't it be real?

I don't know why.

All I know is, both would keep me equally warm, even if it was just for a moment.

 

Does he ever think of me sometimes?

Does he recall the same memories that make me smile?

Or am I just another faded memory, still fonded,

yet tucked away,

like those short I wore all summer long. 

Does she stare deep into his eyes and feel the same fire?

The same power? Does he?

Maybe it was all fake, like the gasoline fire. 

Maybe I'm only looking at the surface.

But isn't the surface a necassary place to begin?

Thats what I did.

I saw the surface, 

I broke to it,

so I could drift on.

 

I know I'm romantasizing this lousy gender.

They're rude and gross and usaully sexist.

But heres the thing:

The passion and pleasure that love,

any kind of love, can bring about,

Is necassary for survival.

Okay maybe not.

But it makes the world a little less dim, doesn't it? Just a little brighter?

When you're a kid, you find passion in other ways. 

But as soon as you feel that beginning stir,

as soon as you buy your first bra and start straightening your hair,

as soon as you start shaving your legs and appyling eyeliner,

just in case you see him,

That's when you're fucked.

It's starting.

The pursuit of boys. 

Its treacherous.

Its annoying.

Its heartbreaking.

Its pointless.

But I can promise you,

that it is tottally and utterly

worth it.