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Description
At slumber parties, I was always the girl with the mismatched pyjamas. Last year's slightly-too-short winter shirt rolled up at the sleeves, with Mother's old red socks and the baggy purple shorts she bought me when I was eight and I instantly hated.

I was always the one who didn't tell the truth in Truth or Dare and my face was always the saddest after the lights were turned off and nobody was looking anymore. I was always the first to sleep and the last to wake and went from shy to hyper and didn't quite fit.

And now I can't even remember the faces of the girls, they faded with a part of me I am glad I left behind.

Now I sit at home and count my friends and my rejections and make graphs and draw a glowing line for a boy to step into. I tell myself I will only take the person who is a true fit, the puzzle piece the right shape and colour that is or is not an edge piece. But in reality I am desperate and could convince myself that anyone fits, if only for a week.

Everything has changed, but much is still the same. I was desperate then too, but in a different kind of way but that was a lie a lie a lie I told myself. But I still wear mismatched pyjamas to bed. The same shorts and socks. But at least the shirt is different now. The one I used to wear doesn't fit anymore.

Maybe it shrunk.
Maybe I've grown.

Description
At slumber parties, I was always the girl with the mismatched pyjamas. Last year's slightly-too-short winter shirt rolled up at the sleeves, with Mother's old red socks and the baggy purple shorts she bought me when I was eight and I instantly hated.

I was always the one who didn't tell the truth in Truth or Dare and my face was always the saddest after the lights were turned off and nobody was looking anymore. I was always the first to sleep and the last to wake and went from shy to hyper and didn't quite fit.

And now I can't even remember the faces of the girls, they faded with a part of me I am glad I left behind.

Now I sit at home and count my friends and my rejections and make graphs and draw a glowing line for a boy to step into. I tell myself I will only take the person who is a true fit, the puzzle piece the right shape and colour that is or is not an edge piece. But in reality I am desperate and could convince myself that anyone fits, if only for a week.

Everything has changed, but much is still the same. I was desperate then too, but in a different kind of way but that was a lie a lie a lie I told myself. But I still wear mismatched pyjamas to bed. The same shorts and socks. But at least the shirt is different now. The one I used to wear doesn't fit anymore.

Maybe it shrunk.
Maybe I've grown.