We met in class. During the second semester of my disconnect, Your tightly coiled hair that danced down your shoulders. You smile. We decided to partner up for an in-class exercise. I still think about how you picked me that day. Your hand tapping my shoulder. Your eyes. I think about a lot more than that. I hate fixating back on you and on us. It feels creepy. It’s been nearly 5 years. It feels like I’m holding a piece of you hostage by holding on to these memories. But when I look back, yours is the only face. I haven’t dated since, some dates, but not dating. I know I should try, but I have my reasons. You know my reasons. Those reasons are why we broke up. Why we no longer speak. I can’t keep looking back. Can’t keep thinking about the time we had, and what could have been. Because it wasn’t. I couldn’t let it. I doubt you’ll ever find this, but if you do, I hope you’ll forgive me for still reminiscing. I will release you soon. But I think I need to leave us here. Leave you here. Document the burden I carry to set myself free.
The good and the bad.