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When we were younger,
Although it was a blurry and a faded, almost distant memory of mine, I remembered that Tuesday afternoon where every single kid out on the field was running about but me.
Or maybe it was us, the two of us that sat at one of the benches, or maybe it was you and me.
The you that sat beside me to silently remind me that I wasn't alone. The me that was used to doing things solo hadn't gotten quite used to this scenario, simply having someone near when I chipped away at doing something plain and mundane. I'd made a mental timer in my head at the time, counting down from 10 at the times I predicted you'd speak up about something random, maybe point out a random insect or ladybug in the grass or so. By the time I'd reached the 10th second in my mind, I grew just a little worried when you didn't speak, only to be met by a small cough that broke the silence.
"Oh, look," Right on time.
"A ladybug." You grinned from ear to ear, and it irked me to the ends of the earth that you could smile at something so small. Even though I was upset, I could still catch myself staring at the two pigtails loosely tied up at the top of your head. They were awfully messy, almost as if you didn't want to ask your mom to tie them up for you and instead did it yourself, but for what reason, exactly? "It's a ladybug, alright." I echoed back without a second thought, and I almost had forgotten about the fact that you clearly confessed to me the other day that you liked me.
"It reminds me of your eyes." At what point would any 7 year old girl say that to another boy in their life, if it wasn't for the moment a feeling had started to stir between them?
"Don't say that." I grumbled quietly, I didn't want to think of it at the time, considering I was only 8 and was unsure how everything else in life worked besides turning my gaze to studies. "You don't even know what you're saying." I sighed back, but a little more softly this time just to tell you off, but they—those eyes that looked back at me pled for understanding, and I just... shut up. I told myself to be quiet, so I did.
When we were a little older,
I realized you started to grow a little bolder. The letters that dwindled and fell out of my locker, no one else could possibly possess that handwriting, it looked too specific and unique to be anyone else.
It was a subtle reminder that you were still there to remind me that I wasn't by myself. I wasn't sure what I was mumbling to myself, but I read those letters like the necessary revisions meant for class; a little too quickly and uneven. What was in the corner of my eye, however, made me think twice for a moment. I suddenly found myself reconsidering those foolish words, the ones written on some scented parchment paper. Just what kind of attempt...
"You." Couldn't bring myself to get angry, to get rid of these letters and simply brush them aside. The look on your face something along the lines of 'What? I definitely didn't write this!' .
Instead, I lightly smacked the letter on the top of your forehead. "You don't know what you're writing." I sighed again, the words coming out a little too similar as of a rejection but still placed the letter back in my locker. "If you write this to another boy but me, what do you think will happen?" I'd completely forgotten you were 12 then. So, maybe it was normal for our age to be writing sappy stuff and imagining things that seemed impossible to achieve.
"They'll... respond like you?"
No, that was definitely what I expected, but it reminded me that I was acting like an idiot all over again.
"Will you keep these letters or not?"
No.
They're stupid.
They mean absolutely nothing to me.
"... What makes you think that?" I murmured, turning away bitterly. You giggled after I'd said something so... idiotic. It baffled me that all it took was a vague and confusing response just to keep you in.
But perhaps that was my fault.
Because I'm not sure when the last time it was when we got any closer. This was what I hoped for, right? For silence—silence yet again. This is exactly what I wanted. Anyone that couldn't distinguish what was just admiration apart from love was nothing but a fool. Or, at least... that was what I had kept muttering to myself each moment after the other that I felt any more alone. It was killing me quietly, and I didn't exactly realize it until many years later when we graduated and eventually went separate ways.
I never got an answer, neither did you. It felt terrible to see you go without a word.
Did you really mean it all? Mean what you said, would it all change if I was a little less indifferent to what else there could be around me besides solitude?
It crosses my mind every now and then, and I often find myself wondering what went wrong. (Many things.)