One year.
It's been one year since I've seen your face. One year since we felt comfortable in each others' bubble. One year since we laughed about our pasts and discussed our hopes for the future.
One year.
In that time, I closed the chapter of my student life and returned to my hometown. I lost family and friends to death or pride, both in some cases. I even lost myself for a little while in the chaos of it all.
In that time, you too returned to your family home. You found a sense of belonging you had craved for so long, despite losing some friends along the way. You even managed to start over, taking pride in carving out your own destiny.
One year apart, and yet our ties are still connected.
We still wait for the familiar buzz of our phones with a "hey" or "miss you" text. We still reminisce about our eleven-hour introduction. We still pass along inside jokes about your hat and my rings. Each little back-n-forth makes the year seem like some exaggeration of teenage angst.
One year separated by hundreds of miles, and the memory of us is still fresh in my mind. Our connection did not dissipate with all the sunrises between then and now; if anything, it grew stronger at the mere thought of a potential reunion.
One year ago, yet just yesterday, the worlds of two strangers collided, and nothing has been the same since.
YOU ARE READING
What I Once Called Love: The Drafts
PoetryThis is my story, or rather a compilation of stories that spans more than a decade. Each piece is written from a place of truth with the exception of the names mentioned. The book itself will broken into sections, with each representing a different...
