It was a Saturday night when I first realized it. It was 6 in the evening, still light out but the wind was blowing in cool air into our house. I had been single for sixteen years since my last relationship, always afraid to get close because I’d get hurt again. I knew you were different.
“Why aren’t you outside with the rest of us?” he asked. He noticed I hadn’t left the room since we got here.
“I’ll follow,” I smiled.
He sat beside me and offered some chips. “Can I hang out here for a while?”
I shrugged and grabbed a chip.
This was the start of something beautiful.
We wrote names on the sand and the water washed them away and took them back to the ocean. There were days when I wished that we were back there, laughing and shouting out the name of our crushes. It was perfect. Just the sun, the sand, and two friends who want nothing but love.
It was all a blur. Last night? It didn’t happen, as far as I’m concerned. But truthfully, I remember every detail. From the car ride to the blanket of stars that evening. You told me you’re tired of me and that you didn’t love me anymore. I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel anything. I’m broken.
As a kid, I used to dream of flying off to the moon and bringing home shimmering dust. I always thought that stars were just bits of the moon that shook off as it moved from day to night. Tonight, there were falling stars shooting down from the sky. I pointed, “Look, the moon’s crumbling!”
We were sitting on the curb watching the cars go by. It wasn’t too hot and there was a light breeze. I liked hanging out with him. But it was always tricky, this friendship I have with him. Sometimes, he’d hold my hand. Once, he kissed me. Always, we end up calling each other friends.
Two summers ago, at our favorite getaway—some theme park with a dinky ferris wheel I was afraid would fall apart. This is where it all happened. With the rusty handle bars, the squeaky seat, he said I love you. I was unsure and scared and said thank you. I will never forget that day.
We’re friends because you understand me, even if you don’t necessarily agree with me. Today, we got into another fight. Some silly thing about wearing sneakers to a wedding. That same afternoon, you picked me up with a dress that matched my favorite pair of kicks. “It’s long. Your shoes won’t be seen,” you said.
