I met you when I was 18.

He had his best coat on – hands in the pockets, out of the pockets. A heartbeat a little too fast, jumping when he thought maybe that was her walking around the corner.

Just a cup of coffee. Just a little bit of talk, and they would go back to normal. She’d be a frequent thought and he’d be a more recent memory. Who thought this was a good idea? He just couldn’t say no to her invitation. He’d never been able to really say no to her.

Cherry hair licking the smooth edges of her face and, oh, how did he forget that bright smile? He smiled back at her as she approached, painfully aware of the warmth in her face. Just a friendly smile and somehow it was like falling all over again.

Her fingers raked her hair away from her face and that beauty mark on her neck made his heart race.

Don’t stare.

Words flowed from her mouth so freely while his brain was unable to think of anything else besides,

I miss you.
I still want you.
I still love you.
Come back.

She was never a regret to him. Nothing about her, he’d change. Not a moment to do with her would he take back, except this one. This moment when the wounds were suddenly as fresh as they had ever been. So he looked more at his coffee. He looked more to the door. He looked at every single person who came in. Anything for some kind of relief from her.

The second goodbye shouldn’t have been as bad as the first. But her back gets further away and his breath is hard to control. His jaw clenches and his eyes sting and he knows he’ll have to go stitch up those freed seems that her delicate fingers and warm smile opened up again.

On the way home he turned his phone off and put it in the center console. She was the type to say how nice it was to see him, and he was the type to fall for it, every time.

Two goodbye’s were enough.
They were more than enough.






3 responses to “I met you when I was 18.

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