We Were Just Kids

Do you even hear yourself?

“We were kids then.”

We were young, sure, but those weren’t just fleeting fancies. They were ours. The kind that bloomed in the bleachers, fueled by stolen glances and nervous touches.

Graduation night, senior year. When we snuck out after the ceremony. The whole town was asleep, but our hearts were wide awake. We were lying there in the field. The sky ablaze with shooting stars. Then we swore under the pale moonlight that nothing would ever tear us apart. You used to write my name on your arm in permanent marker, just to prove your love was indelible. Seems that marker must have run dry a long time ago.

We were going to be that annoyingly in-love couple everyone secretly envied. We were going to conquer high school together.

You let me believe in forever. Now it feels like such a cruel joke. Because somewhere along the way, you turned the page. You moved on to a new chapter, one where I wasn’t the leading lady anymore. I guess happily ever after wasn’t part of your grand finale.

Did you ever look back? Did you ever wonder where I was? Lost in the wilderness of a bond you no longer shared. Maybe it was naive to believe that we were an impenetrable fortress. But isn’t that what love is supposed to be?

Now I stare across this booth, which feels like a chasm. Wider than the rain-slicked streets outside. And all I see is a stranger. A stranger who doesn’t flinch at the sight of my shattered heart on his napkin.

It hurts. More than you can ever know. It hurts to see the love we nurtured wither and die. It hurts to realize the future we meticulously planned together crumbled to dust in your hands.

Do you even remember the dreams we shared? The one where we had a little house with a porch swing and a yard big enough for a dog the size of a bear? The one where you’d come home from practice every day with dirt on your knees and a goofy grin that could melt glaciers?

Maybe I was clinging to something long gone. Maybe you were right; maybe we were just kids then. But those dreams were the fuel that kept this fire burning. And now that you’ve doused it with your apathy, all I’m left with is a pile of cold ashes and the sting of unshed tears.

It’s over. You said it yourself. And as much as it rips me apart, I know you’re right. I can’t hold onto someone who doesn’t want to be held.

This is the end of us. I have to step out of this cottage. Leaving behind the ghost of what we were. But a part of me will always wonder what could have been. What if we had fought for it? What if we had held onto the spark a little tighter? I’ll probably never know.

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