Heather.
We all have our Heather.
The girl who comes to school in messy buns.
With sweatpants and an oversized T.
No makeup, effortlessly pretty.
I wear nice clothes.
I straighten my hair until it steams.
I wearmakeup until my imperfections are perfect.
I suck in my stomach until I have a flat stomach.
I'm not pretty without effort.
I wanted him to notice me.
I wanted him to like me.
I wanted to catch his attention.
She didn't care for him to notice her.
She didn't care if he liked her.
She didn't care if she caught his attention.
But he still noticed her, never me.
He liked her, not me.
He had his attention all on her, not me.
He was my dream boy.
But I wasn't his.
She was.
He was supposed to ruin my lipstick.
Not my mascara.
