by Simran Singh Jain
I have this bad habit of searching for myself inside of blue eyes. I expect to gaze into them and see myself skinny dipping, swimming the backstroke and laughing as I let my hair straighten out in our private pool water. Or perhaps the bad habit is that I’m shocked every single time she’s not there.
Josh #1 called me a slut when I didn’t want to sleep with him. He took it back after I did.
Michael #1 told me he loved me while we were drunk on the Bud Light he stole from his older brother. He denied it the next morning.
Tommy #1 loved me even after I cheated on him with
Jake #1 sold pot on the side even though his parents made six figures.
Michael #2 had a girlfriend, I don’t think she ever found out.
Josh #2 called me an Uber pool the next morning after promising he would drive me home the night before.
Jake #2 never called me back after I told him I had been raped by a different white boy with a different white boy name.
Josh #3 wakes up next to me every morning, kisses me on the nose. On sunny days we go skinny dipping. I do the backstroke and laugh and pretend I’m swimming through his eyes.