We’re in the girls bathroom and you wash your hands while I fill up your water bottle. You inspect your face, searching it for imperfections I couldn’t find even if I tried. You find one, a tiny smudge of your red lipstick at the corner of your lip. You carefully scrape it away with your nail, then inspect that to make sure there isn’t a red spot.
I don’t think I’ve seen anything more beautiful.
We’re in the girls bathroom and we’re both looking at you, but you don’t notice. I watch as you pat down your hair and inspect pores that aren’t visible unless you get really close. I’ve never been that close.
We’re in the girls bathroom and I’m gay. I hurry to look away. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I don’t want you to know that I think about you, in quiet, simple moments like this, all the time. I don’t know what you’ll think. We’re 14 and kids are mean and I don’t understand.
We’re in the girls bathroom and you’re gorgeous
and I’m scared.
















