Girls

I write about girls I do not know. Ones that I have never met. Ones that only exist in the confines of my brain. I don't know what that makes me, but I know it makes me confused. So here's to Mae, Emma, Emily, Carrie, Annie, Elizabeth, Elizabeth Mae, Lily, Poppy, Cheryl, Daisy, Lilac, Primrose, Rose, Bella, Posy, Caroline, and all the others girls I don't know but like to pretend I do.

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Soft skin in every color of the rainbow

Perfume radiating, overwhelming my senses

We memorize each other's curves

Not the circumference of our hips

But the bend in our elbows while we braid each other's hair

Brown hair, pink hair, blonde, brunette, highlights, faded bleach she did herself last summer

Leather jackets, denim shorts, polyester sweaters in July

I'm a sucker for a girl with personality

Sundresses in January, flower crowns in May

Compliments bestowed onto me that I don't deserve

Lips in every color Sephora has to offer

Netflix reality shows, trash television

I hate it

She loves it

That's all that matters

Aesthetics with flowers and tickets to concerts of her favorite Indie bands

Is it that obvious I have a type?

Soft hair, wavy locks, tangles in the morning, curls tighter than cherry stem promises, French braids, ballerina buns, ponytails

I want them all

Cherry lips, apple pie, caramel lattes from her favorite coffee shop, tanned French manicures

Did I mention she speaks three languages?

Meet in college, in a cafe, in a back alley, at the grocery store, I don't care

She bites her nails

Collects vinyl records

Loves yard sales and thrift stores

Maybe we're practically polar opposites

Laugh out loud at super bowl commercials

Pasta, Italian garlic knots, sushi and fried rice, steak on Friday like her mama used to make

Did you know she cooks?

British accent, Australian decent, Northern roots, Southern homeland, did a semester in South Africa to see where her mother grew up

Hoop earrings, pearl necklaces, we read Gatsby together and complain about the way F. Scott treated Zelda

She played tennis with me on Saturday because my grandfather couldn't make it

I took her to meet my parents

She loves them

I love her

I can't even pinpoint which one I'm talking about

But it doesn't matter

I love all of the girls I'll never meet

The ones that I make up on a whim

But stay with for days because real people can't comapre