Alexandra DePalma, Contributor, Emerson College
I want you to know that I dress for you.
I bought that dress brand new for you. I chose the color purple because the saleswoman said it looked good with my hair and skin.
I push the boundaries of the workplace hem and neckline requirements for you. I spend time on
my hair for you and wear it down in the heat. I color my eyelids with browns and bronzes that
make my amber irises pop. I lather my body in lavender and vanilla scented lotion because I
read somewhere that lavender and vanilla were two of the smells men most prefer and I want
you to prefer me. I want you to remember those smells on me and think of me whenever you
walk by a candle or a Glade plug in.
I play with my hair when you're around and bite my lip more than I should. In fact, I do this so
often for you that I've started to just do it, I fear I'm becoming known as the flirt.
I talk about things that I think you like for you. I posted that I was going to that musical festival
in September for you, I wanted you to see that we're compatible.
When I refused that cookie, I thought of you and when I ran this morning, I thought of you.
When I write, I think of you, I think of what you'd say if you read my work. I think of whether
you'd think it was good, or just a meaningless waste of time and language.
I think of whether you think of me too. Sometimes I think you do. When I catch you staring at
me, standing so close our arms touch, smiling at me, touching my back and arms, or standing up
for me I wonder.
I wonder if it's all in my head--all the "signs"-and if you're really not that into me.
I wonder if maybe you're just the nicest human being in the whole world and don't actually have
a special interest in me. If you do have a special interest, I wonder if it really is romantic or if it's
because you know who my father is.
I really want to know because I can't stop thinking about you and it's starting to drive me crazy.
I mean, I dress for you.
I want you to know that I dress for you.
I bought that dress brand new for you. I chose the color purple because the saleswoman said it looked good with my hair and skin.
I push the boundaries of the workplace hem and neckline requirements for you. I spend time on
my hair for you and wear it down in the heat. I color my eyelids with browns and bronzes that
make my amber irises pop. I lather my body in lavender and vanilla scented lotion because I
read somewhere that lavender and vanilla were two of the smells men most prefer and I want
you to prefer me. I want you to remember those smells on me and think of me whenever you
walk by a candle or a Glade plug in.
I play with my hair when you're around and bite my lip more than I should. In fact, I do this so
often for you that I've started to just do it, I fear I'm becoming known as the flirt.
I talk about things that I think you like for you. I posted that I was going to that musical festival
in September for you, I wanted you to see that we're compatible.
When I refused that cookie, I thought of you and when I ran this morning, I thought of you.
When I write, I think of you, I think of what you'd say if you read my work. I think of whether
you'd think it was good, or just a meaningless waste of time and language.
I think of whether you think of me too. Sometimes I think you do. When I catch you staring at
me, standing so close our arms touch, smiling at me, touching my back and arms, or standing up
for me I wonder.
I wonder if it's all in my head--all the "signs"-and if you're really not that into me.
I wonder if maybe you're just the nicest human being in the whole world and don't actually have
a special interest in me. If you do have a special interest, I wonder if it really is romantic or if it's
because you know who my father is.
I really want to know because I can't stop thinking about you and it's starting to drive me crazy.
I mean, I dress for you.