A girl like you.
In my youth I would have fought other boys for the right to walk you home. Wearing the scars like a badge. Or I would have wandered backwards and forwards past your house, hoping to catch a glimpse of you at a window. Or long for you to see me, a shadowy figure beneath the street light, and think me romantic.
In my youth I would have carved presumptuous initials into innocent trees, into battered park benches, into tables, and desks, and the backs of chairs – not caring if I was caught. Or that you would disapprove if you knew.
In my youth I would have sought you out at dances, making a mess of my over-rehearsed lines. I would have asked a friend to give you messages – which you would probably receive with a frown.
In my youth I would have made up…
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