You Belong With Me

What Could've Been

As I walked home, the late afternoon sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows that mirrored my thoughts. The streets were familiar, yet everything felt different, as if a layer of nostalgia had settled over the town since I'd last seen Lana.

 I couldn't shake the memory of our encounter at the diner. Thinking back to our first meeting, I recalled how mesmerized I had been by her from the moment I laid eyes on her. She had strolled into class with an air of confidence, her bright red hair catching the sunlight, almost as if she were glowing. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen—so full of life and laughter. Even then, I felt a magnetic pull toward her, something deeper than friendship. But it wasn't just that first impression that stuck with me; it was every moment we had shared since. We had always been in the same orbit, orbiting each other but never quite colliding. We talked in passing, exchanged glances during class, but we were never truly close. I had always wanted to be more than just a friend, but the words never came.

 I remembered the last day we saw each other. It was a bittersweet afternoon; the air was thick with the scent of summer, and the finality of her moving away hung over us like a storm cloud. I'd found her sitting alone on the swing set at the park, a place we had both spent countless afternoons. My heart had raced, knowing I might never see her again. 

"Hey, Lana," I'd said, trying to mask my anxiety with a teasing tone. "I just wanted to let you know I won't miss you at all. Who needs another redhead running around here, right?" She had laughed, a sound that sent warmth flooding through me, even as the weight of our impending goodbye settled in.

 "Oh please, Wes. Like you could survive without my jokes and charm." We had exchanged playful banter, but I could see the flicker of sadness in her eyes. I wanted to reach out, to tell her how much she meant to me, but the words never came. I felt trapped in that moment, caught between what I wanted to say and the fear of ruining what little we had. As the conversation drew to a close, I watched her stand up, her laughter fading into something more fragile. That was when it happened—a small charm fell from her bracelet, bouncing lightly on the ground between us. "Wait!" I almost shouted, but the word stuck in my throat. I didn't want to seem too desperate, didn't want to break the fragile bubble we were in. Instead, I picked it up, a delicate silver star that shimmered in the light, and hesitated. I could have handed it back to her, but something held me back. I tucked it into my pocket, a silent promise to keep a piece of her with me. I still had that charm, tucked away in my room, a tangible reminder of the girl who had stolen my heart long before I even knew what love meant. As I walked, I could still feel the weight of that charm in my pocket, a reminder of the connection we had, however tenuous. I replayed the moment over and over, wishing I had found the courage to say what I felt. Would things have been different if I had? Would we have had a chance? Now, as I turned onto my street, I felt the pull of those memories stronger than ever. Seeing her again had awakened something deep within me, a longing I thought I had buried. I couldn't help but wonder if this was a second chance—if maybe, just maybe, we could rewrite our story.

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