take a pen to me, please

"i love the girl that owns this arm"

was written
on someone's arm.
my sister's arm.

and i thought it was so sweet.
and then my eyes welled
and i said aloud,
"it would be the weirdest thing to see that on my own arm"
because no one feels that way about me.

people love me
but not in that way.

they say "i love you"
they hug me.
they kiss me.
they look at me.

people love me enough to go out of their way to help me
people love me enough to hug me when i'm sad
people love me enough to leave me alone when i'm angry
to wish me a happy birthday
to compliment me
to write me letters and notes and texts.
people love me.

i want that kind of love where you want to doodle on someone's arm,
claiming it
while advertising your love for that person.
i want doodles and whispers
and silly jokes about my breasts being mountains while toy cars drive around my stomach.

as i cried alone in my room i realized how important those things are to me.
those, to me, are beautiful expressions of innocent love.
someone feels that way about my sister.
i want to feel that way about someone.
i want someone to feel that way about me.
so bad.
so bad that i had to retreat to my room to cry.

those things seem so silly to some
but they are so deep and meaningful to me.
i want that kind of childlike love so bad.
because it is so pure.
and beautiful.
and i will find it.