The One Who Got Away

One: The Miracle

Dreams can come true 

I wish I could meet you.

I send the text and roll onto my side, putting my phone face-down on the pillow next to me. It's nothing I haven't texted a thousand times before, but every single time it still stabs a freshly-sharpened knife into my heart.

His reply vibrates within ten seconds.

In an alternate universe, we're already married.

A smile curls at the corners of my lips.

How can we be married when we haven't even kissed?

We don't need to kiss to be married. 

His response is immediate. It's an echo of the conversations we've had before, but every time we touch on the same subject, he gets a little bolder. And every single time, my heart flips a little harder.

Then what do we need?

I almost hesitated over sending that because it's starting to get a little too real. Of course I know why we can't get married. He's been my boyfriend for two years but we've never met in real life. Pictures and video chats can't compare to seeing him in front of me and laying my palm on his cheek and having his hands on my waist and leaning towards each other's lips...

A miracle.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. He's right. I don't know why I feel like crying. I've always known it's impossible for us to be together. I focus on the positives: how fun he is to talk to, how he always says the right thing when I'm upset and how he knows just how to make me smile when it's the last thing I want to do. My favourite thing is to lose myself in daydreams of finally meeting him. At this point, I've conjured up every scenario possible of our first meeting. It's perfect in a thousand different ways.

Carmen??

I stare at his last text, at war with myself. He wants to know why I haven't replied in five minutes. If I tell him I'm sad because everything he says makes me all the more desperate to meet him, our conversation will turn somber and while he'll do an excellent job of comforting me, I will feel horrible. Lately, every time we come close to talking about our feelings and how badly we want to meet each other, I can't help but just feel depressed. It's gotten to the point where I almost dread his romantic messages. It only twists the knife deeper into my heart.

But I can't leave him hanging. As much as it hurts, a life without him in it would hurt more than anything I can imagine. Without him, nothing is worth it. He makes my dreams seem possible and gives me a reason to get out of bed in the morning—if just to respond to his good morning text, when it's actually goodnight for him.

I need to sleep, tomorrow is my first day. I love you. Goodnight.

I'm not happy with the shortness of my tone, but when his next text buzzes in, it's clear he didn't pick up on it.

Mine too. I can't believe it. We're entering our last year of school, Carmen. After this year, we can finally travel to each other.

I read his text twice before he texts again.

And then I can finally kiss you.

My heart flips so hard it catapults itself into my throat. I try to swallow but the lump is so big I choke. The familiar warmth spreads throughout my body. I wriggle under my sheets, suddenly suffocating under them. After two years, such a simple text still has this effect on me.