I fell in love,

in a tent,

on a squeaky sleeping pad,

in the middle of the wilderness,

I fell in love with a girl.

I was thirteen,

she had just turned fifteen,

we called her shawty,

like the song we sang for her:

“Go Shawty, it’s your birthday, we’re gonna party like it’s your birthday”

her name was beautiful.

and she loved food. 

I loved her.

she cut my hair with a pocket knife,

her soft fingers dancing along my back,

her breath whispering on my neck.

She was the first girl, 

the only girl,

I have ever loved.

I came out in that tent,

late at night,

lying on that squeaky sleeping pad,

hair being braided and stories being shared,

The only place I have ever felt purely myself.

Nothing changed though,

even as my world exploded in colors,

and after those ten days,

we never spoke again.

I won’t ever forget her,

her hair a silky yellow, 

soft even after a week of camping,

cascading through my fingers,

sleeping squished side by side on squeaky sleeping pads,

underneath the stars.