Archive of Our Own

I wish that I could have been a songwriter, so I could fill others with all of the affection I had for you with masterful lyrics. I wish I'd written a song when my love was at its peak, to sing until I'm old and my grandkids got to watch me smile quietly without an answer when they asked who it was about.

I wish I could have been a prodigy so I could memorialize my adoration for you in a painting or a marble block, and for years to come people could have taken one look at a sculpture and immediately understand the sort of awe that surrounded you in my mind like the haze on top of hot pavement.

I wish I could have sat upon that stupid casino rooftop and screamed at the top of my lungs how much I worshipped your very being, so that everyone could have grumbled about a stupid kid yelling that their love had a halo behind him when they walked, made out of streetlights at 9pm. I would've screamed until security came to detain me, if I could've.

I wish I could have been an author so that I could base a series off of a fantasy between us, using all of the innocent imagination-born scenarios my mind constantly conjured up after hanging out with you, so that I could've put into words how dear you were to me and looked back on it in ten years with fondness.

I wish I'd kept track of the ring that matched yours, the one I gifted you, that you wore until it got broken. You may not wear it anymore, but it filled me with such indescribable cheer whenever I saw that silly, cheap band of cheap metal around your finger.

I wish I could've bought bouquets for you and arranged them with a million different meanings that you'd never think to translate, because you never really returned enough of that care to bother with such things. In fact, the flowers would probably wither somewhere as a sort kf prophecy for what was to become of my feelings. For the short time they were fresh and bright they would have been just as beautiful as those few months where we were together everyday.

I wish I had focused more on my photography, so I could have dragged you out to the most random of places and created evidence in the form of pictures, proving how truly magnificent you were to me all the time.

I wish I could have been a little more talented, a little more creative, so that I could have made something to translate the overwhelming bundle of real, blooming love that I held for you. I wish I could've created something beautiful, and emotional, and maybe shown it to you so you could understand how perfect you were in my eyes.

We may have withered without ever even reaching full bloom, but the brief period of time where you were my world was more phenomenal than I could've ever imagined,
and not even my own memory can explain the sort of pedestal you sat upon in my thoughts back then.