Thought Catalog


Someday, maybe a year from now or five years down the road, we will meet again. You will stutter and shuffle your feet across the gravel, and I will smile and ask you how you have been. And on that day, you will want to tell me that you’re not ok, and that you’re sorry, and that you want me back. But when that someday happens, I will be gone before you can say a word.