I remember the first time I saw you, really saw you. We were young, sitting on the stairs at the front of my high school and at that very second, I knew that was it. I would have you forever or not have you at all. I could never have settled for in between.
Your nails were bitten down to make way for the cracked skin of your fingers and your hair curled in ringlets I could wrap around my fingers. You had the kind of smile that made other people smile. You said my name like I mattered. I realized it was because I did matter. I mattered to you.
I tried to write other things for you, about you, but none of them seemed honest enough. It always sounded like I wanted to make you a poem when all I ever wanted was for everyone to know it was possible to love someone that much. I wanted everyone to know it was possible for someone like me to love someone that much.
I’ve stopped trying to trick myself into thinking I don’t love you anymore. I do. I always will. I would’ve given you anything you wanted and I still probably would if you asked me to somehow. But what else can I do but accept that I will always love you and live with it? What else can others tell me about how stupid it is to love you that I haven’t already told myself? What else is there for me?
I don’t know where you are right now, I don’t know what you’re doing, but I tried to leave flowers at your grave today and I couldn’t find where you were buried. It shouldn’t have surprised me, because you always knew where to hide when you didn’t want to be found, but I just wanted to be done. I wanted to let you go.
Now I don’t think I ever will. It’s probably because you never wanted me to.