You still pop into my head from time to time. I can’t stop it from happening.
I still think about the way your cologne hit my senses when you enveloped me in a hug that lasted a little too long. Seconds longer than just friends would touch. Seconds that proved the words we left unsaid — that we wanted each other, that we were attracted to each other, that there was something chemical between us.
I still think about the way your voice sounded when you said my name. The way it rose higher when you teased me. The way it dropped lower when you got serious with me. The way it sounded when you sang low beneath the music so I wouldn’t hear, but I listened anyway.
I still think about how attractive you were. How alive your eyes looked when you glanced up at me. How delicious your mouth looked when you smirked at me. How good your arms looked, how good your chest looked, how good your tattoos looked.
I still think about the way my heartbeat would triple when you winked at me from across the room. The way my thoughts would hummingbird whenever you started a conversation with me. The way my flesh would prickle when you pressed your palm against mine, when you linked your fingers with mine, when you rested your lips against mine.
I still think about how I would search for you inside of crowded rooms, because you were the only one I cared about seeing. How I would sneakily check mirrors and phone cameras to make sure I looked decent whenever I was around you. How I would stay a little longer or show up a little earlier just so I could spend more time with you.
I still think about the times when you complimented me. The times when you texted me. The times when you made me believe that something was actually going to happen, that we might actually become something.
I still think about how much I liked every part of you, even the annoying bits and pieces. Even when you were hyperactive and energetic. Even when you were quiet and closed off. I liked you even when I hated you, even when you pissed me off, even when you gave me reasons to give up on you.
I still think about how we danced around our feelings. How there could be a volcano of sexual tension spilling between us but we would never acknowledge it aloud. We would dodge instead. We would make jokes instead. We would act like we couldn’t care less instead.
I still think about how stupid we were. How we settled for flirting on and off instead of creating something real. How we let other things get in the way.
I still think about what we almost were. I still wonder about the what ifs. I still think about how much I cared — and how those feelings haven’t completed gone away.