Sometimes, when I’m not doing anything important, I find myself thinking about you. From there, I go back and read the first message you ever sent me. It was bold. It made me laugh.
Then the night we stayed up late just talking. It was nothing special. Nothing out of the ordinary from what I was used to but, for some reason, it felt special. Something about you was different and I guess that’s what I’m holding on to. That something. And it doesn’t make sense that I would be so infatuated with you because we didn’t speak for long. Our correspondence was brief and before I knew it, the thing I feared the most had happened. You were gone.
From the beginning, I knew whatever it was wouldn’t last and not to get my hopes up. But that something kept me hoping until I realized you were gone for good. Maybe one day we’ll meet again- though I highly doubt it. I don;t think I could ever hate you, you didn’t do anything wrong. But part of me still wishes you hadn’t gone…