She knows that she should not yearn for her. She knows that nothing good can come of longing for someone who she should only see as a friend. And she knows that, when it comes down to it, she could never leave her boyfriend. But still she stares, she still hopes, and she still dreams.
The dreams are the worst. When she stares, she can eventually pull her eyes away when she realises what she is doing. When she hopes, she can scold herself and shift her focus to something else. But when she dreams there is nothing she can do but be swept along on the tide of their passion, nothing to do but teach the 'friend' she has always cared far too much for about the delights of the female body. The dreams are the worst. But she loves them anyway.
She loves the gasps and the moans that escape from her 'friend's' throat as her fingers dance over her body and she loves the way her face contorts in ecstasy when she pushes her over the brink of orgasm. She loves the softness of her skin underneath her, and she loves the taste of her lips and she loves the taste of her.
Of course, these things are all creations of her overactive imaginations – she is a teenager after all, but she thinks that she would love the real thing even more. She longs for the days when they were still close enough that they stayed nights at one another's houses, because then she could hope that she would want it too, but of course she wouldn't, so it is good that they are no longer so close.
She still dreams of the day when she will ask her if the rumours are true, if she really is gay. She isn't, of course, but they all think that she is. She will tell her that, she will tell her that she likes men as well, but nothing is quite so beautiful as a woman, and no woman is quite so beautiful as her. Probably she shouldn't tell her that, but she will, she knows she will.
But she is getting lost again in her own dreams and her own hopes and wishes, and really, she thinks, it's a secret fear as well. Because how would she explain her to him? And how would she explain him to her? But she wants them both, loves them both, needs them both, like she needs air and water.
She still remembers the day when her arm brushed against her, still remembers the electric shocks that rushed up her arm at such a slight touch. She can't help wondering what it would feel like if she were to touch her anywhere else. She shivers at the thought of it, imagining she can feel those skilled fingers working her body as she works her instruments. She knows that she would make a wonderful lover with a little help, help that she would be all too willing to give.
She sighs, resigning herself to another sleepless night thinking of her...