Back then I wore what felt like mismatched socks and grass stained knees, I never thought of how I looked, or how my look, laugh, or look was booked. The mirror didn’t meek a thing, just smudged up glass and, daydream wings, no voice inside to say “too much”, no fear of eyes, stares, or touch. Boys were friends with scraped up shoes, trading snacks and silly news, no games, no lies, no heartbreak ...