i still write to you

i remember the fair

you were my cotton candy at the town fair.

the lights on all the rides kids loved to ride over and over again, they lit up your face and made your eyes shine in a way i don't think i will ever see again.
the smell of deep fried food and mouth watering desserts still remind me of the bench we were sitting in when you kissed me. right there in the middle of the busiest part of the day.
we were right next to the lemonade stand and the bench was probably older than our parents. the paint peeled right off- i remember because some of it got stuck under my nails. you made me so nervous.
there were so many people walking past in all directions; even if we had planned on moving, there wouldn't have been anywhere to get to. i remember a baby asking to get back on the pirate ship ride.
you held my hand like i was a priceless jewel surrounded by dust and popcorn-smelling air. i would've held on until we were buried. i focus on your fingers to avoid your eyes. obedient as ever.
you kept me close. i could smell your cologne and the lemonade we shared. i had a million things i should've said to you, but you hushed my thoughts with your lips.

.

just one year later, i would hide behind the deep-fried oreo stand just so you wouldn't see me. my chest was set on fire and i felt it in my throat, at the end of my fingers.
you were with a short girl, she had on muddy chucks, just like mine. and her hair was short and the color of brown that reminds me of the tree my tire swing was hung on as a child.
i pulled on the tips of my bright purple hair. i knew you would see me cowering in the dust. i wanted to be blown away with it. never to see your eyes again.
even after all you did, you're eyes stayed kind. the sickly kind that worries children before they can't run away again.

i had taken cotton candy from the bogeyman.