And for once in my life I was so grateful for small towns, for people who had known you your entire life, knew all your secrets, that you grew up with. I was grateful for the girl who sat next to me in math class six years ago that very first day and was always within reach every math class for the three years after. I was grateful to be in that place, the site of so many moments and memories, looking up at the stars.
I was glad we’d made it, kept a friendship after two years living so far apart, I was grateful for the easy familiar patterns of us, different lyrics but the same song.
And she was glad too that we’d managed to stay close enough that we still got moments like this one on a cold August night two weeks before the end of summer.
Because the thing is, I’m so different, almost unrecognizable in most ways, but when I’m with her, I realize in the important ways, I’ve stayed the same.
We’re growing up, fast, and soon we won’t even have these moments, the summers, which is why I’m so grateful I got to fall asleep smelling like campfire in a brand new tent on the hard ground. I’m so glad we got to do that together just the two of us. Because the truth is it’s been a long hard summer too absent of moments like these, and as we get older I can only predict the moments of young summer will only get fewer and far between.
Which is why I am so grateful I got to fall asleep in a tent with a girl who always gave me so much, more than she ever even realized, who made life a little better, a little easier.
We didnt have to talk all night, and we didn’t, but it was the epitome of companionable silence. Besides she said the only important thing, falling asleep snug in sleeping bags, campfire smell in the air.
“I’m so glad we stayed friends,” she told me sleepily.
"Me too," I told her. And I was, I am, there probably aren’t words for how lucky I felt to be so different, prettier, nineteen, so young, so cold, and yet so lucky for that moment, that night, for just being there.
I think people are broken in the most beautiful ways. They are cracked and shattered and scarred from life and love and loss. I see that now, I see myself as broken, beautiful, damaged, but also a lightness, as laughter and happiness.
You say, “I don’t want to be that girl, a lot.”
"That’s because there are so many different "that girl’s" and I don’t want to be any of them."
Meeting this boy brings it all back. The charming boy from the party, the car, the dinner, the way he looked at me, the kisses, all my wrong steps, falling asleep in his arms, waking up to him, having my heart broken on the perfect night.
All I can see is the dark and the bright lights, him looking at me, intertwining his fingers with mine as he droves home. All I can remember is how I felt that moment, how I thought to myself, “This is happiness.”
And then the next morning, how I cried until my eyes were raw, and then fell asleep and slept all day.
Me- “Sorry what were you saying?”
Him- “Oh nothing, I was just gonna say at least you have your Dad.”
I smile. “Yeah, at least I have my Dad.”"
"I just don’t understand why I’m still so upset about it. Like I’m more upset about this than I was my eight month relationship."
"That’s because that was a horrible relationship. He was the first good thing you had, but that doesn’t mean he was a good person, or that he was good for you. He was just better than the last one, but then again anyone probably would be.Time, time will erase him, don’t worry."
"My biggest fear, I think that would being average. I don’t want the husband and the house in the suburbs and the 2.2 kids. I mean I do, kind of, I want some of that, but I don’t want just that, and I’m terrified that one day I’ll wake up and that’s all I’ll have."
"I’m scared of being trapped at the bottom of the ocean."
I know this is a lot to want, but I just want some evidence that you regret let me go, that you miss me. That’s all.
"But you still miss him?"