Dear Meg,

five

[ October 26 2015 ]

Dear Meg,

I went out with Jake and Nate last night after the football match. Bad idea.

We went to the after party at Scott Patterson's. I knew you were there. I saw you.

You were wearing that navy blue shirt with sleeves that ended at your elbows. (the shirt that you wore when we went out to the carnival that one time). It fitted you perfectly, attracting a bunch of assholes' unwanted attention.

God, I wanted to punch every single one of them. I even wanted so badly to punch Jake for checking you out, and Nate for drooling over you. What a shameless bunch, they are, knowing that I stood right next to them.

But, not as badly as how I wanted to walk toward you and put my arm around your waist. To feel the pressure of your cheek against my chest. To smell the alluring scent of flowers on your hair. And to have your thin arms wrapped around my torso. Just for one last time.

At one point, our eyes managed to meet.

So, I lost myself in alcohol instead.

You kept your gaze on me when I was chugging down the drink in my hand, the obnoxiously bitter taste of alcohol met my tongue. I saw you moving yourself closer to my direction and found myself stepping back from the scene and walked away to where the other guys were playing beer pong.

I knew you wanted to approach me, but I didn't let you.

Not because I didn't want to.

But, because I couldn't.

Sometimes it's easier to just forget.

You reminded me too much of everything.

I remember Scarlett threw herself at me, at one point. I remember her mouth moving against mine and her fingers tangled on the strands of my hair. The alcohol running in my veins kissed her back.

And if I didn't know any better, I swear I saw a flash of something igniting in your eyes. As if a spark of jealousy. As if I was just caught cheating on you and that I was yours.

Love, Dylan