Bethie
It was evening,
the sun set, the red lights on. They casted a beautiful glow on her face.
Her plump lips so kissable, her brassiere visible through her wer shirt, revealing a rich bosom, her damp hair looking devlish. I held hands with her, the pair of us walking. In that moment she wasn't straight; in that moment, we existed.
The light to our back, cast a shadow in front of us, a shadow of us holding hands, a shadow of us together, a shadow of us in love.
She swayed her head to the gentle music, to which everyone danced. We were thirteen.
I was probably the only girl my age, to admire Bethie romantically.
Bethie...
To her, we were just two girls, holding hands, having fun.
To me, though, we were lovers. United, but only in my mind. Close, and yet two worlds apart; hers filled with guys, mine, with Bethie.
I undressed her in my head, touching her ever so tenderly, worshipping every curve she had. I kissed her pain away. The cuts that painted her wrist, in that moment, weren't for all the guys, they were for me. Finally. She missed me, not some boyfriend.
I sighed. In my mind, I was ecstatic, her touch exhilarated me, but I was also sad. I knew her touch wasn't meant to excite me. That kind of touch, was meant for the guys, and yet, it intoxicated me; in ways I can only try to describe.
I knew it wasn't real, the affection that I saw in her eyes, the affection that I wished I saw.
Her beauty mystified me.
I could stop and admire her for hours - I had stopped and admired her for hours.
Suddenly, she turned to me, her gaze piercing mine. I knew she was teasing me. She always held her gaze longer with me, than any of my girl friends. I knew she did it on purpose, because she knew I like her.
She would touch my thigh, and the small of my back. I knew she did it on purpose.
I knew,
I knew,
I knew....
She didn't want me to get over her, but she couldn't have tried, and I would still love her, Bethie is still a part of my heart. I still close my eyes, and go back, to my first love; picture us holding hands. Never anything more intimate, just holding hands, but it meant the world to me, because she just existed, and I just loved her.
And we were just thirteen, two kids in silly love.
Somewhere among her straightness, I knew she loved me too, and I knew, and I knew, and I knew....
