Some part of me will always love you. I’ve had many crushes, but you were probably the only one I had ever truly fell in love with. Needless to say, I was scared yet exhilarated at the same time.
You were my best friend. I’ve never wanted to spend so much time with anyone. You did not always understand me, but you always tried to. When you could not, you simply accepted me the way I was. That was powerful. You never ever put me down, not even as a joke. You were a source of support. A strength I never thought I would have.
I was scared. Maybe you were too. I’m sometimes sorry about how things have turned out but I think that in the end, this was the best for the both of us.
Right now all I want is for you to be happy.
Sometimes I look for your face in the crowded Internet. It makes me happy that you are happy, smiling, and amongst friends you care about. I wonder if you think the same about me.
Sometimes I miss you very much. But I think meeting now would be a bad idea since all that is left have already dissolved. The memories that remain are already rose tinted, and I can only remember the good times we shared. I’ll never tell you this, but I will always love you from a distance.
When we stopped being ‘us’, I saw you everywhere. You were the boy walking in front of me, you were the boy in the bookstore. You were the boy in my lecture hall, you were the boy in the food court. I did a double take whenever I thought I had bumped into you. I was prepared to pretend that I didn’t see you, I was prepared to act nonchalant. Above all, I was prepared to run.
You were in every song I wrote. Even as time passed and I met new people, there were always echoes of you in every song. Maybe it’s because you became a part of my soul. Maybe it’s because I’ve never loved anyone else, truly, since.
We will get on with our lives. You’ll meet someone special, and so will I. We’ll marry them and feel on top of the world. I’ll look at your wedding photos on my newsfeed, maybe even wish you a sincere, heartfelt congratulations, but I’ll also feel a twinge of sadness, the variety that belongs in the category of what-could-have-beens.
When I have my first child, you might like my mobile upload of a bald, crying newborn. He or she will be the most beautiful person I have ever seen, and I will look at life in a completely new way. By then I am already deeply embedded in my new roles in life, and so will you. We will be happy for each other, but we’ll never say it. We will not be in touch for decades, and hardly think about each other at all.
When you post photos of your children, I will be genuinely happy for you. I wish I could meet them. They are probably wonderful just like you are. I hope you enjoy being a father.
At age 50 we might meet, coincidentally, at a social function. Someone introduces us, and we may go ‘Ah’, and share a knowing smile. That someone might feel excluded in that very moment and ask if we know each other. “Yes, from a very long time before,” I would reply. A playful mood will fall upon us and we make jokes at each other, just like old times. “You’ve become fat!” I would say, while you’ll tell me how I looked rounder as well. I threaten to pour the red wine all over your pressed shirt, and we both laugh at the silliness of it all. I am happy to have met you after all these years. We’ll discuss our lives in milestones, and you’ll tell me that your children have entered university and are doing well. We’ll have a grand time laughing over how we have become so old and frail, but then you’ll probably interject with something like, “But we’re always young at heart.” I’ll go home with a silly smile on my face. If my husband asks, I’ll just say that I’ve met a dear old friend. Which you are, you are.
We are 70. We’ve been through a lot. It is family friend’s party and there you are, looking old, but still very charming, in the middle of the lawn. Of course, you are still holding a drink in your hands. You have grown to like whisky. Somehow I knew this moment would come. We’ll smile at each other, and get to know each other all over again. I will hold your wrinkled hands in mine, and hope your eyes still twinkle like they did before. A slow song comes up, and we have the kind of warm, slow and wistful dance old people do. Twinkling lights, orange cordial, cocktail sausages, and running grandchildren in the background. We’ll slip into an easy familiarity that not many have. We’ll tire easily and lie back on the grass. We’ll trace the inky sky and you’ll point at random stars and make up legit sounding constellations. “That’s Ursula, and that’s Tequila.” I’ll still smile at your silliness. “Sure anot…you’re still full of shit.” There are more silences than talk, but I enjoy your gentle companionship. I’ll tell you my man had died a few years back. You’ll look at me and understand. You never really knew how to comfort me when you think I am sad, but age has wizened us all. We’ll sigh. A somewhat resigned sigh. But we are content, proud of the lives we have led in our youth. We’ll laugh when our bones crack while trying to get off the grass, and I’ll dust off stray leaves off my long patterned dress. Cleared throats and a handful of last jokes together, we’ll exchange stiff goodbyes. In my heart, I knew I would probably never meet you again. This was truly goodbye.
I’ll go before you. I wonder if you did come to my wake. Perhaps you didn’t. You probably didn’t know- we have no other connections between us. Maybe you were lying in a hospital bed somewhere. It’s okay, I don’t hold it against you.
So… I just wanted to say, I know we will never be together the same way ever again, but I’m still glad I’ve met you in this life. I’m glad for what we had, even if it was just a short wink in the long passage of time. You’ll always be a part of me,
and I will always love you.