I remember the first year I sat next to you. I can’t imagine how I wasn’t constantly aware of you. Your body, your smell, your pure and wonderful existence.

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I remember how long your hair got by the summer, how it was always messed up and hanging in your eyes. You always flinched when I tried to fix it. You were always slow to notice, even slower to realize.

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I remember sitting next to you on a bus, a pair of earbuds shared between us and my favorite song. I will never let you fall, I'll stand up with you forever.

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I remember that I was fine with waiting.

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I remember that day in the empty stairwell where we bumped together by chance. I knew what you wanted to say, and the unspoken words hung between us until you finally blurted them out. I never actually said yes, but I think you knew.

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I remember that I hated Valentine’s Day. You went along and hated it too.

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I remember smiling uncontrollably when you sent me those messages. How cheesy they were in their utter simplicity, and how starkly artless I felt when you made me so happy.

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I remember how much I idealized you.

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I remember your stubble. Somehow, you managed to look exactly two days unshaven, week after week after week. I never got around to telling you how much I hated it, so long that I didn’t, even, anymore.

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I remember that first kiss in your room in your birdhouse of a home. Spontaneity never quite fazed you, did it?

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I remember the first snow of the year, fragile and cherished in the heat of the South. We skipped practice and just walked, my hand in your pocket. I shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

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I remember your eyes. They never stayed the same color, shifting from brown, to green, to gold and back. I was always embarrassed when you caught me looking at you.

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I remember hating you. I remember hating myself. I remember hating the guilt that hating brought and only hating you more.

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I remember the confusion in your eyes. The room grew hotter as I struggled to find the words. I hoped you would just say them for me, but it’s never that easy.

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I remember the day I ended it. I got bored of you. Isn’t that sad?

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I remember distancing myself from you. I ignored you and pushed you away to the point of contempt. I guess some part of me wanted to hurt you, just wanted you to be mad at me instead of always being so f***ing accepting of everything. It worked; you retracted into your shell and that was the last I saw of you for a very long time.

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I remember homecoming, when you were with her and I was with him. I laughed so hard when she told me. I was so happy, knowing that it was someone else’s shoulder I was resting my head on. It didn’t matter that I hardly knew him; I kissed him that night, and you were already forgotten.

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I remember loving the fact that someone was chasing me, not the other way around.

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I remember running out of things to talk about, the awkward silence stretching into minutes. I never let him grow stubble; he did what I told him to.

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I remember staring at you, wondering if old feelings ever really died.

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I remember the weeks after I broke up with him, how empty and sad I felt. I hoped you would see it, but of course you didn’t. You never seemed to see me anymore.

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I remember shedding friendships like old clothes in those last few months. Asserting my independence in isolation. I didn’t need anyone, just look at me. Just because I found them becoming strangers didn’t mean that wasn’t what I wanted. Did it?

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I remember how good I was at pushing people away.

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I remember 3:07 AM. I was lying in bed, tracing knots in the headboard with a fingertip and talking to you. You said that you had broken up with her, and I just listened. I remember that I talked to you more then anyone else at that point, but I can’t deny it was never without a selfish purpose in mind.

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I remember telling you about feeling suffocated. How routine turns into despair and everything you know becomes questionable, how guilt creeps up on you until you learn to brush it away. You asked me who made me feel that way and I choked. Phone static crackled between us, relentlessly stretching the miles.

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I remember wanting what I couldn’t have.

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I remember the text message, the twitch in my jaw when I read it. Each sentence was punctuated by a mocking smile that crawled under my skin. Of course I was happy for you and her. Why wouldn’t I be?

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I remember how hard it was to reply to that message.

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I remember feeling, knowing, that I was unneeded. By you, by everyone. No small taste of teenage angst was good enough for me.

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I remember my own silent frustration with you, angry and desperate. I told you that you never really cared about anything, and you didn’t even tried to deny it. You made me so mad, it only made me want you more. “Love” isn’t the right word, but it’s always the first one that comes to mind.

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I remember the hope, flickering but incessant. Of course I remember it. It’s not easy to forget something you still can’t relinquish, day after inevitable day.

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I remember your voice, as warm and familiar as your oversized sweatshirt. You said that you thought that I never really wanted to talk. But I always wanted to, always. No one ever wants to be alone.

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I remember that beautiful feeling of closeness that I’d worked for for so long. Finally, finally. Finally.

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I remember the fight.

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I remember shivering in the cold with you, again. No snow this time, just barely forming ice crystals in our hair. You put your head in my lap and I ran my fingers through your hair until they were numb with cold. I told you not to give up on her, but I couldn’t have been that convincing.

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I remember the farmhouse. Romantic in its abandoned state, how eager we were to explore it. How I didn’t care where we were, as long as I was with you.

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I remember when you told me what I had been longing to hear. I kissed you and you said the same words I had said to you almost two years ago; “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

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I remember the one perfect week we had before it all fell apart. When you said I Love You, I was naïve enough to believe it.

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I remember when you broke my heart.

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I remember that I was angry at you beyond belief. That’s what I told myself, atleast. I think, really, that I was just disappointed. With you, with myself for not ever being able to come first.

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I remember the note, when you begged for a second chance. I was disgusted with myself, how I was more than ready to give it.

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I remember expecting everything to go back to how it was. How scared I was to see you, everyone else around me grow distant. How much I just wanted you to tell me it would all be okay, that you would always be there for me like you promised. I will never let you fall, I'll stand up with you forever.

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I remember when you called me on the pretext of concern and let me down once more. So preoccupied with yourself, your resolution to be more caring, more thoughtful, you never saw what had suffered the true blunt of your ignorance the whole time. But I couldn’t show you, I had to salvage what remained of my shattered pride. Couldn’t you see? You were the last one I wanted to see me so vulnerable.

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I remember wanting nothing more then to hurt you, to make you suffer as I did for so long. It had all been such a waste, all of it.

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I remember realizing that you and the idea of you that I had created were two entirely separate beings. You could never live up to my expectations; how could you, as thoughtless as you were? What I had truly lost was the ideal I had carried for so long, a friendship based more upon hopes than realities.

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Today, I went back to the farmhouse. The stable, the garage, the back porch, the chain on the fence are heavy with your presence. To me, you have been a friend, a best friend and so much more. A dream, a life unknown, a safe haven when I had nowhere else to go. I couldn’t understand why you couldn’t see what I saw; how it was all meant to be, how everything would come together perfectly in time. I couldn’t understand how you could call me a friend and than treat me so badly, like a stranger. I couldn’t understand why the past couldn’t just repeat itself and take me back to a time when everything was less complicated, more sure. And I still can’t. Secretly, though I’d never admit it, all I want is for you to take me back and love me again. All I ever wanted was for you to say, I’m Sorry.