There is always that one girl, the girl that you cannot stop watching and you cannot stop thinking about. But you try not to think about her, of course, there is always that struggle. Because you do not like girls. Yes, you have short hair, yes, they all called you a lesbian, a dyke, but you know yourself. Who else is there to know you, after all? Friends and strangers, but who can you tell? So you don't tell anyone. So you keep it to yourself and try so depserately hard not to think of it. Because you know yourself, and you do not like her like that.

After the first month, you start thinking that maybe you do like her that way. But she is the only one you ever will, of course. It's nothing to be alarmed over. Because you will never act on it, never feel that skin and those lips, so it is alright for you to feel, there's nothing wrong with it, you tell yourself. After all, everyone goes through a phase, and you are no exception. You still do not tell anyone about it, of course, but you feel less guilty about it, sliding your hand under the sheets when you think about her, closing your eyes and clenching your teeth.

And maybe you realize that she's not really the first one, she's just the first one you noticed. Short hair and long legs, hands and eyes. When did it happen, you wonder. And maybe you hate yourself for it, maybe you call yourself all the names they called you once; army-boy lesbian, fucking queer, fag, maybe it makes you sick. And maybe it doesn't. Maybe it becomes your secret, your hidden thought that makes you curl in on yourself, not with pain, not with hunger, but with power, power of knowing something about yourself that no one else does.

And maybe you don't do anything about it, and after a while you think it's gone, that you can stop thinking about her. But maybe you notice that you still think about her too much, still talk about her. Maybe you do something about it, then, because you can't take it anymore. And maybe she hates you, maybe she's shocked, disgusted, pushes you away and breaks your heart.

And maybe, just maybe, she doesn't.