i fall in love daily

collarbones

Dear Collarbones,

Okay, I admit it. I have a thing for bone structure. Jaws, throats, spines, shoulders, hips, wrists, ankles… just the way they sit, stretching buttery skin like a bat’s wing, membranes like vellum with faint blue veins scrawled all over. I like to touch them, to feel their fragile hardness under clothes, under prickling hair, under skin. I’ve always liked them. You weren’t the first to have beautiful collarbones, and you won’t be the last.

You sat with your spine curved and your collarbones jutted, a cup for the water dripping from your hair. They stretched across the base of your throat, silhouetting hills and valleys of that downy boyish skin. The sunlight dried our sea-soaked bodies as we filled our faces with greasy fried fish from a paper parcel, and shrieks of teenage laughter filled our ears.

Later, with your collarbones folded like wings beneath your damp t-shirt, I kissed you.

boys in skinny jeans

Dear Boys in Skinny Jeans,

Keep wearing skinny jeans. For the love of God, keep wearing skinny jeans.

eyelashes boy

Dear Eyelashes Boy,

You were sleeping. The sunlight arced in through my half-closed curtains and from your naked, creamy collarbone, my pounding hangover and the debris of clothes and sheets around us I deduced that we had fucked.

I watched you sleep in profile. Your eyelashes cast these willowy shadows over your cheekbones, fluttering like static. My hangover told me to get out of bed and puke, but you were so goddamn pretty I just couldn’t disturb you.

So I watched you sleep.

plaid shirt guy

Dear Plaid Shirt Guy,

Yes, I know everyone wears plaid shirts, but you looked really good in yours. I thought to myself how good it would be if I took you home, and then in the morning, before you woke up, I could steal your shirt and wear it myself.

vans guy

Dear Vans Guy,

You were in the cloisters at the university and we were the only two people smoking. I fought the urge to go and ask to borrow your lighter. That’s so cliched.

I don’t know if you were watching me, but I was watching you smoke. It’s the most sexual thing. The way the cigarette clings to your lips as you blow out the smoke. It was like slow motion. The smoke curled away and you hunched closer into yourself, enjoying the solitude.

You put the butt of your cigarette on the pavement and put it out with a twist of your left Van. I’ve always had a thing for guys in Vans. The shoe kind, not the kind you don’t get in with strangers.

bottle shop boy

Dear Bottle Shop Boy,

I thought you were kind of cute. Actually, I thought you were so cute that I was too embarrassed to buy Vodka Cruisers from you in case you thought I was fifteen or something, so I put them back and we bought a bottle of vodka instead.

My friend said you were acting all flustered like you thought we were pretty. Maybe I could have got away with buying Cruisers after all.

mcdonald’s boy

Dear McDonald’s Boy,

I totally lusted after your cheeseburger for a while before I noticed that you were prettier than it.

upstairs box carrier

Dear Upstairs Box Carrier,

You came and voted at the polling booth when I was taking votes and you were pretty much the best-looking guy I’d ever seen at uni. I tend to see things that aren’t there a lot, but when that idiot kid on the lawns fell off his skateboard and you caught my eye, biting your lip to suppress a laugh, I could swear I saw something.

Later, when we packed up the booth, you came back. You offered to carry a heavy box up the back stairs of the Union Building for me. I thanked you, and you smiled beautifully, but I never saw you again.

I hope you’re in one of my classes next year.

mr. lips

Dear Mr. Lips,

Oh, God. Those lips. I was probably staring at your mouth way inappropriately while I waited at the bar but it was after exams and we were all drunk and I don’t think you even noticed me. I was waiting to buy another jug of sangria and the girls probably wondered what the hell was taking me so long. I just couldn’t look away.

Seriously, fuck the lucky bitch that gets to kiss those lips tonight.

drummer boy

Dear Drummer Boy,

I don’t know what got into me. Usually I prefer bassists. Or frontmen. As my friend wisely said, ‘there’s something about a boy with a guitar’.

For some reason, though, when you played, I paid attention to you.