Dear Oscar,

It was at the end of eighth grade when you first saw me cry.
Phoebe and I were through.
There was no friendship left between us. I never allowed myself to cry outside the confines of my room.

Boys weren't allowed to cry.
That's what people said at school.
So I cried in my room as you
pat my back.
You told me everything was
going to be alright.

Do you remember that day?

You probably do.
Because there's no way to forget what you did next.
When you kissed me again, and I kissed back.

It was different from our first kiss.
There was no party.
No bottle and no crowd.
There was simply you and I
hidden away in our own little solitude.

And you apologized, so I did so too. Even though I wasn't sorry...
I'd liked this second kiss more than the first. That purity buzzed within my stomach as I twirled
a lock of my hair.
How I wished for it to be longer.
Then I could spin it around
my finger.
Maybe even feather my lashes at you.

I shook my head free of my silliness.
Confusion, Oscar, that's what you brought to me.
Confusion, that I'm very grateful for right now, as I write this here letter.

We promised to never speak of it again. We were just friends. We would stay just friends.

Because that's what guys did, right?
"Guys..."
I think that's when I noticed what Grandma must've noticed.

Oscar, I'm thankful for what you started within me.
Even if you didn't stick around to see the results.

💔

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