you are fourteen when you discover that girls are a concoction so full of magic that being around them makes your hands shake
at sixteen you kiss your best friend at a party. your fingers find the side of her face, the smooth moon of her jaw, her thick black hair. she tastes like whiskey and your heart hammers against your ribs. she breaks apart from you, laughing, and goes to make out with her boyfriend.
at eighteen you are in a short tight skirt and your eyes are on a golden girl who smells like daisies and never stops smiling and there are six boys around you and they’re all begging you to reach for each other and you refuse at first but after four shots suddenly it’s all heat and hands and holding her against you, it’s the way she feels when she sighs against your lips and how her teeth feel against your neck, it’s knowing you messed up hard this time because
you want to kiss her awake in the mornings you want to kiss her over tea you want to kiss her until her toes curl and she forgets how to speak
but she just finds a boy and leaves."