Do you remember the first time you looked at me? I don't blame you if you don't. I can't recall the first time I looked at you either. You were one of hundreds of new faces that invaded my mind as I walked down the halls of our high school for the very first time, and of those faces even now I only recognize a couple dozen.
I do remember the first time you talked to me. I was sitting in the far corner of our classroom, reading my copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray when you sat down on the desk next to mine and asked me if it was any good, with a frown adorning your face. You are more of a mystery junkie, I would later find out, with your entire color-coded collection of Agatha Christie books. Were there 16 or 17? I've forgotten again.
You sat right next to me and ripped the book away from where my hands were starting to clutch it close to my chest. You took my page marker and carefully put it in its place, then closed the book and started looking over the cover and reading the summary on the back. I remember just sitting there, completely frozen in my desk as you looked over my book, you'd never approached me before that day, I knew your name because I'd heard people calling you out in the hallways sometimes and because you were pretty hard to not notice thanks to your blond head of hair amongst the other hundreds of brunet and raven haired boys of our class.
You just popped out of nowhere and made yourself a little spot in my life, without even asking for my permission, and you stayed there. Day after day you would approach me in the morning and ask for an update on the book, and you gave me and update of yours. Then you would take over the conversation in a way only you can, and we started talking about Greek Mythology and ended up talking about aliens and conspiracy theories.
It was so easy, talking to you. Even as I struggled to share my own voice, you could see that I was struggling and just pulled the words right out of my chest, one at a time. You praised me constantly, and laughed so much louder and longer at my jokes than what was necessary. You made me feel like I owned a place of honor in your heart. I'd never felt so at ease with anyone that wasn't one of my two best friends or my family. And well of course I fell for you.
I'll have you know, I tried very hard not to. My friends are witnesses, they kept telling me you had already fallen deep and fast, and that you were waiting there, so that when I decided to let go, you could catch me before my bones shattered on the ground. I'd heard all of that before, with much smaller cliffs. So, every day I clung to the ground with my bloody and broken fingernails, resilient and stubborn, as you slowly tried to pull me down with you.
Do you remember that day at the beach? Just before we graduated. Everything was just loud music and alcohol everywhere and I'd ended up stuck taking care of one of our classmates that was too drunk to realize that if she dived into the sea, she would not be able to come back up. I got distracted for a second, she would have drowned if you had not helped me get her out of the water. You hugged me after, calmed me down as I cried from the shock. That was the day I finally let go. I let my fingers slip and closed my eyes. Hands clenched to my chest as I felt the wind blow in my face. Then I crashed to the ground.
Because you weren't there to catch me.
The end.
