Maybe my dad killed himself. Maybe I couldn't tell anyone else exactly how. Maybe I called her. Maybe it had been a few months. Maybe I just wanted to talk. Maybe it was 3 am. Maybe I needed her. Maybe I wanted it to be like old times. Maybe I wanted to wish on a shooting star again. maybe I wanted to fix things. Maybe I picked her up. Maybe I wasn't just me in the car. Maybe it was past her curfew.

It's possible a few drinks were involved. It's possible there was more than a few. It's possible when I kissed her I tasted the Jager like it was my own drink. It's possible those white shorts and crop top made me want her more. It's possible I got her alone. It's possible I told her that I still cared. It's possible that I never said it before. It's possible she cried. It's possible I was too drunk to notice. It's possible that someone else did. It's possible I got jealous. It's possible she just wanted to be held. It's possible he was gentle and did.

Perhaps he offered her a ride home. Perhaps she stayed with me. Perhaps she still loved me. Perhaps I yelled about the boy who cared for her. Perhaps she cried again. Perhaps she went home upset. Perhaps he comforted her again. Perhaps he took her to see fireworks. Perhaps he didn't know she hated them. Perhaps I didn't know she would like them. Perhaps she got closer to him. Perhaps they laughed together. Perhaps they spent all night talking about the dreams and goals I already knew. Perhaps she told him to come back the next day.

It's likely she forgot about me. It's likely she found happiness. It's likely he loved her back. It's likely they went places. It's likely he got her cute gifts. It's likely I liked their pictures on Instagram. It's likely I looked at our pictures. It's likely my sweatshirt is tucked away so he cannot see it. It's likely I was lonely. It's likely that I still want her.

Or do I? Maybe on those lonely nights, when I was feeling down, when drinks blurred everything right, perhaps anything could happen.

But then again, maybe possible, perhaps likely, that I never did need her.

That girl
with the auburn hair
pale skin and
butterfly tattoo;
that one patterned with
sun spots and burnt brown eyes
topped with faint baby pink lips;
          that girl is me.
That girl that’s captain of
the team and president of every club,
the one who can’t say no to anyone especially the dusty haired
boy with green eyes that loved the
girl she was,
           or at least pretended to be.
That girl is me.
That girl that was always the savior,
Wonder Woman in regular clothes,
the one that gets along with everybody because
she can’t say no to anyone especially
that boy who told her everything would be okay;
that she would be safe;
     that no one would find out.
That girl is me.

          or at least who I used to be.

Hair’s now blond
skin’s sun kissd
tattoo removed
bright red lips accenting burnt brown eyes that learned
to say no to everyone especially
the tall boy with freckles and a voice that resembled an angel’s.
No longer Wonder Woman because
everything wasn’t okay;
she wasn’t safe;
and everyone found out.
The one I used to be,
   that girl
            is no longer me.