I had a dream last night where you came to visit. You drove up to my house in your turquoise pickup, and said you wanted to give me one of your paintings.

That’d almost be like giving me a part of you. Wouldn’t it? Is this dream like me asking you for that? For a part of you?

You revive all of the best things about being a girl, all the worst parts of being insecure. Though I do not miss you when we are not near, your smile leaves me glowing all day. That’s good. But my how my tongue fumbles, how nothing I say seems to make any kind of sense when I know you’re in earshot. That’s bad...

But still. You seem to like my paintings, and to lose your articulation too. (That or you’re more of a moron than I can possibly believe, given the way that you feel out these sketches...) You catch my eye in the middle of class as I’m darting my glances all around the room, pretending not to watch you. You smile. You smile so sweet and awkward and then go back to your work. The ego in me wonders if you weren’t surveying the room, not-looking for me as well.

If anyone could see the way I feel as if I’m glowing, they would take me in for nuclear testing.