This is the last tear I will shed for you, Greg. This will be the last time that your face enters my mind. Never again will I open the file cabinet in my mind that contains all of our memories together and sift through the almost epic moments that made up our time together.
As of this moment I will forget about the way you blunder through stories of your family; ones that you are not quite sure why you are telling me. I will forget the way you never move your eyes from my face, even when I catch you looking at me.
No, I will not remember the time where we laughed and discovered that we share the same sense of humor. It won’t even enter my mind the cute way that you spoke about camping with your older brothers, or your mother’s pasta recipe.
I will completely discard the time that you walked me from my dorm to the video store. I will not even think about your quick, “Of course”, to my expression of fear and request for you to walk me. I won’t dwell upon the moment where we both were stopped in our tracks to gaze up at the cathedral on campus, lit up against a starlit sky; I was embarrassed at my pause until I realized your walking had ceased as well. I listened to your stories. We discussed movies and realized that we shared a love of the “oldies”, especially Casablanca. But, I won’t think about that.
Completely forgotten will be the shy kiss we shared when we returned back to my dorm.
I won’t think about how you cry every time you watch Robin Hood and the corrupt sheriff steals money from the kid on his birthday.
I won’t dare ponder over your big blue eyes, or perfect hair, or the way you offered me your sweatshirt when I shivered in the cold.
Gone is the hope that he will begin to message me again, or call like he used to.
No more will I eye his online status, wishing that a new message will pop onto the screen of my computer.
Instead I’ll force myself to remember all the unanswered texts. I will think about the way you looked down at the pathway when you noticed I was walking in your direction.
My last memory will be a drunken Greg, with his circle of friends, proclaiming how great he is. My last memory will be the look of a “cool” college kid; gone will be semi-dorky guy that walked my across campus as we braved the creepily quiet trail that led from my dorm to the store.
Greg is gone; in his place is someone unrecognizable.
Goodbye, Greg and your memories. You will haunt me no more. Enough now, enough.