It’s weird to think that we weren’t strangers once, to think we swapped secrets in the backseat of a car under the covers of darkness when the rain would fall so softly on the window and make obscure prints on your skin. Sometimes it is easy to love a boy when you are only eighteen and he’s telling you things that make you think he needs you. It’s easy when you are eighteen and you need something sweet-talking and tender to need you. But I was never really eighteen. It hurts to know how casually I chose my words when I had no idea it would be the last time that I really spoke to you, the things I should have said haunt me constantly. And sometimes, just for the briefest of moments, I can remember what it was like when I knew someone in a way that I will never know them again.
You showed me how real life can be sometimes, how scary and how unpredictable, that sometimes this life can be such a happy accident, more than just a series of decisions and regrets. They are lessons that I couldn’t have learnt better elsewhere and I’ll forever owe you for that. Even when you disappear, please know that you are so very important to me, and will continue to be from the sidelines, concealed by what once was.
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