It’s wrong. But I can’t help feeling. I’m a girl. But, I think I love her.  Long chocolate brown hair, tint of pink in her cheeks, her soft daffodil and rose scent.  Huge, intelligent eyes sparkling perfectly when its dark, as if someone sprinkled stars across her hazel eyes. I climb up on the rails of the bridge. I know its wrong to love her. I wish I could wake beside her, hold her.  Many things I wish. Something urges me to jump. Maybe Mother dying causes it, maybe because she’ll never be mine, never love me, because I’m a girl.