I still remember her short red hair, surprisingly natural.
she looked half-European but her blood was all African.
we spent the first three days knowing each other as strangers
I asked her for her notebook on the third day.
I still remember she had a short, jealous temper
the type that makes pretty girls look prettier.
with pouted lips and an angry look, she’d stand on her toes,
“where have you been, I’ve been waiting.”
We called it ‘like’ because we knew how young we were,
and how old and sad love can become,
we saw the signs in the adults, in how their moods change
and in how they always drink too much.
I still remember the last day of holiday classes,
how we made pinky promises to see each other next year,
how my mood changed when she waved goodbye,
and the first ever kiss my left cheek received.
Maybe I did love her in my own young way.
