Not in a million years did I think I would find myself here again. Writing down another series of letters and thoughts all revolving around him. Moments, I find myself infuriated with him, amazed at the things I thought I knew, wondering what is true and what isn’t. Because I would like to believe that I knew at least a fraction of his heart. Give me a little peace of mind and believe that my first love was worth it; all for the little moments spent talking in my car and the stolen kisses when no one else was watching.
We were kids, after all, driven by the quickness of a single moment and aroused by the passion behind quick pants and spoken ‘I love yous’. I remember his laugh, his smile; the simple warm look of his chocolate-brown eyes. The feeling of my hands tugging at the roots of his hair and his hands around my waist. Even if things could’ve been different, at the end of the day it won’t change anything now. Because in the time that has passed, he and I grew up and became different people; we became strangers, and I was left with the memory of a childhood we spent together.
But I wonder if I still remember the feeling of his lips on mine. The warmth that would spread through my skin, down my neck, around my chest, and all the way down to the tips of my fingers and my toes. Would I feel the quickened rhythm of my heartbeat as he held me in his arms?
Or would it simply feel like a stranger's lips, a stranger's touch? Foreign and momentary. Not leaving the desire for more than just a few moments of contact? Would we get wrapped up in the comfort of one another just because it’s something and someone we used to know? Or would it feel as if it were the first time all over again? Would I feel the way I did when he gave me my first kiss? Incinerated from the inside out, alive with more than fire and desire. Clawing at the ends of his shirt, pushing against him because chest against chest just wasn’t close enough. But do all the moments I remember most about him mean anything to him at all? Would he describe these moments in the same way, or would he cruise past them because it isn’t something he considered memorable?
He holds too many of my firsts for me to pretend as if he meant nothing, just a silly high school romance to pass the time. Because he was what I imagine being in love would feel like; the feeling I'll look for in someone else in the future. Only I hope it feels stronger than what I felt for him. In the moments that we crossed paths, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was still a part of him I may know. One I could still recognize.
He’s grown, he’s evolved. He’s not a kid anymore and it shows.
Those warm brown eyes I used to find myself getting lost in are still the same.... except that they seem to also carry anguish. I look into them, and they seem lost. He seems hardened and I pray that it isn’t a result of the time he spent with me. The confident and self-assuring boy I used to know still peeps through. Even though he seems accompanied by doubt and anger.
He seems to get lost in thought, cruising through moments and memories... and I wonder if the ones that replay in his head are the darker moments we shared. I wonder if what he thinks about when he remembers me are the moments spent crying in my car, yelling in a forest, or pleading on the phone for the chance to be given a say.
Did he think about the times in which I became distant? About the moments in which all I was, was fear, doubt, and unassuming. About the moments when I said or did things without thinking- the moments when I made him upset.
More than anything I pray that those aren’t the moments he chose to remember.
Because through everything and everyone, through temporary anger and resentment, the memories that I choose to think about when I think of him are of the times we spent laughing.
Dancing through the aisles of the grocery store.
I love you’s exchanged with a quick kiss before driving away.
Naps in the park as I read my book, my head resting against his chest.
Picnics and flowers and firefly jars and diaries with my name engraved.
Birthday wishes and falling asleep on the phone and waking up to him still on the line.
Seeing him walk through the double doors in the morning, a big smile on his face and a bouquet of carnations in his hand.
Handmade presents and Polaroids in the snow.
Long embraces after a long hard day.
I treasure those moments most because coming to him always felt like coming home. To the person I loved and the place I felt like everything would be okay. Even if he didn’t know about it.
But over time the pressure just kept building up, and the voices of doubt and insecurity that we worked so hard to keep at bay eventually became too loud to ignore on our own. At some point, I stopped being his feeling of home.
And he stopped being mine.
I guess that’s just life. Growing to know and love a person so deeply that they become a part of what shapes you, only to evanesce with time. Maybe there was nothing either one of us could have done. But if I had picked up the phone that night, what would have changed? Would this be a different letter- one you might have read?
Thoughts of him continue to fade. Our paths will no longer collide, and we’ll become a faded memory, of love or despair; I haven’t decided which. I wonder when his words will cease to have such an effect on me; and if mine would’ve ever had one on him.
Either way, I'm left with a love yet to be extinguished, a gratitude never expressed, and a pile of letters that I’ll never send.