You gave me a different kind of summer that day. That time. We weren’t how we were like before.
Did you ever notice? Or did you simply just not care?
I remember sitting down next to you on a small couch in a renovated basement with a couple other people. It was cramped, but I didn’t mind, if it meant sitting closer to you. We watched old cartoons probably from the mid-1900’s and a few terrible movies from the later years. I remember how we couldn’t help but laugh and make vulgar jokes from time to time as we kept watching. I remember how your face lit up when you guffawed over a witty remark I made. We laughed so hard our stomachs started hurting. And even though the other kids were too little to understand our somewhat suggestive banters, we shrugged them off anyway and continued at our own distance.
We calmed down a few moments after and you rested your head upon my shoulder. It used to be small moments like this that got me so worked up on you. I remember how I always felt electricity whenever your skin brushed against mine, even if it was just for an almost second. You layed your arm on my lap and I don’t think you had any idea how much I wanted to hold to your hand and remember all the feelings I tried to suppress. All I ever wanted was inches in front of me and all I had to do was reach out and grab for it. But I didn’t. I knew I couldn’t. I knew you didn’t love me the same way. Not anymore. Or maybe, not even ever.
It’s sad to think that this has probably been my favorite moment from us last year. That time. We used to consist of so much more. But you see, I don’t think being the reason behind someone else’s smile could ever compare. It wasn’t even just anybody. It was you who I made happy. And that’s what made it so special. You were so special. I’m not sure what ever happened to us, but you are my least favorite-best memory. And that’s all we’ll ever be now– a beautifully tragic memory. Read the rest of this entry »