–> This is a fiction piece. Nothing in this post is meant to represent me or my personal experiences. <–
My mind likes to wonder what could’ve been of that boy. When I think of it now, I ask myself if I should’ve told him. Could it have changed anything? I probably should have told him, all those years ago when we still spoke often, how I felt. Perhaps whatever had been there would not be gone as it is now. Truly, my feelings for him were unlike anything else, and I fear now that I may never feel them again. For the most part, I have buried even the memory of those feelings, just in the far corner of my mind, beside the memory of him. I don’t think of him in my busy everyday life, but there does come the occasional moment, when all is still and quiet, that I set aside my time to dwell within the catacombs of my mind. In these rare times, I cry. I do not cry for him, nor his memory, for it is not the past I like to focus on, but the future. I cry for this, what could’ve been. I cry for everything we could have had, if I hadn’t left without saying goodbye. If I hadn’t left at all… Was it even real, I wonder? Did we have anything at all? If we did not, I know now that we could have. But it doesn’t matter. Not now, when we are worlds apart. He lives in a busy place, a life full of caring for his family, his father’s debt and his sister’s failing mind. There is no time for me in his world. I am lost to him, just as he is lost to me . We both have a tombstone in each other’s mind, on which the words are cracked and faded, impossible to read. But we know what they said. These tombstones are there, keeping the memory alive, even if it is only a small, insignificant gust in the wind. Those graves hold us tight and lost without the other, but keep the promise that our love may meet somewhere in between.