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Only one boy has really wrapped my stomach into pretzels, he didn’t give me butterflies. It was kinda like pterodactyls. I’m talking terrible internal bruising. And the first time I kissed him was like the first time I saw fireworks. Which was kinda like the sky first kissing me in the eye balls.

In junior high the self defense counselor taught us that we could defend ourselves against a rapist by sticking our thumb into the corner of his eye socket and popping it out like a grape.

For the chance to be with him, I would pop my own eyeballs out and say, ”Here. I only have eyes for you.” So everywhere we went, he would carry me around in his pocket. Every time he pulled out a handful of loose change, I would be there to wink.

But things change. He moved away and I’m stuck weaving through traffic. And it was kinda like that first kiss hardened into the last.

My love: preserved, a pterodactyl in a tar pit, the music over before it started, a lost guitar pick. I’ve stopping trying to match it…searching for that magical attachment.