I remember sitting on my roof, guitar in hand. Singing songs about love and dreaming about boys I thought I needed. I remember wanting so very badly to be wanted. For him to come over to talk to me.
The fantasy. Where the boy comes over to you because he cannot stay away.
You are irresistible. You are the only one. You are different. Finally. Someone realized it. Someone saw it. HE saw it. While drinking a chocolate milkshake in that ******* green lettermen’s jacket he wore so well. Sliding in on my side of the booth. My chest and cheeks flush with blood racing to attempt somehow sooth my overloaded brain.
Will life ever get better? What drug gives you this high? What experience is this satisfactory?
We all want to be wanted. And the spoiler to the end of this story is, that never changes.