I think about you often. More times than what I’d like to admit.
And when I do not think about you, which also happens often, you trespass into my sub-conscious, into my dreams.
You are never the same in my dreams, after all, you were never the same in my reality. Sometimes you are the enemy I try running away from, sometimes an old friend who now is just an acquaintance. Sometimes you are in the crowd and I don’t realize it was you until I wake up. Sometimes, you kiss me.
I think about you often. I thought about you now, in the shower.
I don’t miss you. I just remember you. You are hard to forget.
“Everyone has their own Robin Scherbatsky” is what you told me once. You were mine. I cried today, in the shower. Was it because of you or all the other things I am holding in? It could not have been you, it has been seven years after all.
I do not regret letting you go. I still think about that talk we had after you pushed me away for months. I was happy and then you called.
“I am sorry I believed in the others. I believed in the rumours. Could we be friends again?” is what you said. Do you remember?
I was tired, and stubborn but I still made the right decision. You were not right for me. You were wrong. You were wrong in believing the rumours and I still don’t know what rumours you were talking about. You were wrong in believing that you could ignore me, throw me away as an undesirable without killing me. You were wrong in your apology, in your words. No, we could have never been friends again because we never were friends. We were bestfriends and you already were more than that for me and you were wrong.
I do not regret letting you go. I still remember the last text you sent me.
“You are going to regret your decision.” and regret I might.
But sometimes the bitter pill which is hard to swallow is what keeps you alive. You were my sweet treat, darling, and you were hurting me.
I remembered you again today. It’s probably all the love stories I am reading that is messing with my mind.
When people writing about lost love they write about their lover’s smile, their eyes, their voice. And though I was surrounded by you back then, I don’t remember those things now. It has been too long after all.
What I do remember instead are your soft arms, softer than the others. So soft that I could hold them all day. I remember now the scar on your left arm that your mother gave. What an unforgettable thing to do. That scar full of pain and tears, and how I tried to fill your wound with all my love and all my care. Do you remember? When you look at your scar now does it remind you of my words. I wish I could have kissed your scar away like how I want to do now.
What I do remember is your hair. Your beautiful dull brown hair which never stayed in place but kept flowing like a stream. How they used to slip from my fingers on those occasions when you used to asked me to tie them up for you. Oh, I loved your hair. The beauty that they were. So different from my own curly mess, I thought, and so much like you. Slipping away from my fingers.
I don’t know if it was love. It probably was. But I don’t know which type of love was it. Platonic? Kinship? Eros? Do you remember?
Why had you kissed me? Which love was it?
I asked you recently, “You had kissed me.Was it truly an accidental kiss? Do you remember?”
I wanted to know which love was it. Was it too dark for you to see the difference between my cheek and my lips? Was it a mistake or did you mean it? The curiosity was eating away at me but you said, “I don’t remember anything like that happening”
Do you really not remember? Or are you lying?
Was that kiss so unimportant to you? Or are you ashamed?
You are lying, aren’t you? Once could be a mistake but tell me, did you kiss me just once? Because if I were to trust my memory and my decision, thrice is no accident.
Did you kiss me to prove to yourself? To try? To experiment?
Would there have been a fourth time if I hadn’t backed away that one time? Could we have had a fourth time?
Would you have remembered the fourth time?
It has already been seven years and soon many more years will pass us by with you standing there on the other side of my wall.
I will always remember you for the scar you left. The scar I so diligently decorated and made my own.
Will you remember me?
Will you remember us, talking all night and welcoming the sun in the morning? Will you remember the astronomical telephone bill which cost our parents? Will you remember the dreams we had and the promises we made? Two little houses next to each other because we could never stay apart.
What we had was not love. I know of that. It was two teens within their own bubble.
And If you happen to read this and realise this one is for you, please don’t try to reach out to me. You probably won’t because this post is strange and if I know anything about you from present time, I know this post will disgust you.
But years from now when I being to forget you. Your scar, your hair, your lips…
Will you help me remember?
I don’t know what to call my feelings for you and I am left with one term, Unrequited Love
Because you are The One Who Never Was