What I Once Called Love: The Drafts

All Grown Up

If you had asked me then who I loved most in this world, no doubt I would've said your name.

You were small at the time I met you, your height just a few inches shy of my own. Dirty blond curls fell into the disheveled pattern against your soft face. Freckles sprinkled themselves across the bridge of your nose as your brown eyes had captured my attention within a matter of minutes.

Simply put, I claimed you as my other half, my fist waving in the air as I dared anyone to disagree. Your hand was the one I wanted to hold during nap time, your cheek the one I wanted to kiss behind the bright yellow slide on the playground.

We were inseparable, a feeling we thought would never pass. If only we knew what was to come...

Before long, your hand was torn from mine as your family moved halfway across the country. I cried for months on end, begging my parents and the good Lord above to find a way to bring you back to me. When the tears stopped, the dreams began, reminding me of your soft smile and sweet disposition, but eventually they too stopped. I had come to terms that it's time for me to move forward and leave you in my past.

Unbeknownst to me, you had to returned to our hometown. You came across my online profile one afternoon, and your need to reconnect outweighed your fears as you messaged me an anxious hello. I replied almost immediately, ecstatic that I was not just a memory from your past.

Steadily, we grew closer and closer, the time apart feeling almost nonexistent. Once again, I felt protective over your heart, and I promise to tend to its scars as I held it in my hands. All I asked in return was that you treat mine with the tenderness I had began to associate with your touch.

I should've known not to be so naive, but how was I to know that this was how it would earn its first scar?