Asking, Too

What I want most is to have been a girl, with you softly asking about what we shared. Together we’d know not some abstraction, no approximation needed to bridge a girlhood you had and I lost. Why are you so little next to me? Were you the size a girl is meant to be? I want to kiss you and know that I could have liked you then, too. But in my team pictures, Jack’s mom is the only one with long hair. And even if I had known you then, you would have played on the opposite field.