How are you? It’s been a while.
I miss you. I know you don’t miss me. It’s okay.
What are you up to these days? Football, a beer, work, some friends, maybe a workout?
Are you happy?
Of course you are—what a stupid question.
I’ve been thinking about you. I’m moving on, I’m trying. I’m trying really hard.
All I do is try, try, try.
I started running again, I’ve been taking care of myself, I’ve been productive and busy. I haven’t drank, I went on some dates. I followed the rules, dealt with it in the best and healthiest way possible. I’ve been good. There have been some really nice days. It all looks good from the outside, or at least it does in the daylight.
Then comes the nighttime, and you are not there. The bed feels awfully big. So empty. I turn around in the middle of the night and your back isn’t facing me, and I got nothing to hold and kiss. I miss your back.
I think about what we could have had. It felt nice. After so many years of loneliness and wondering, you came along and it felt like the other piece of the puzzle was found. It felt right.
This house reminds me of you. I miss your laugh. Your smile. The way you used to touch me.
Your hugs. Your honesty.
You told me I could not have and would not have managed to make you change your mind. It breaks me knowing you didn’t want us to happen so badly. I thought we were extraordinary. I thought we could have been magic.
I’m a love-at-first-sight kind of person—I know I’m gonna fall in love with you the second I meet you. I get this overwhelming feeling and I just know.
It happened with you the minute you hugged me after we climbed that tree.
But you never failed to remind me that all good things must come to an end.
We were a dream—my dream. Two months in a lifetime. Who will even remember those 60 days after the summer?
Not easy to forget, your first ever heartbreak.
Farewell to the One who got away.