I’m writing this because I can replay every instance of us together, every memory, every time you looked at me like I might’ve meant more than I do. I’m writing because this ache I feel when I don’t see you is too much and knowing that I long to see you is even worse. And I’m writing because of every time we talked about books together and every time I made you laugh. I’m writing because of the way you look at me when I’m teaching or reading or talking about anything at all and you look completely interested in what I have to say. I’m writing because of the way I can hear your laughter so clearly in a room whenever I make a joke that no one else laughs at. I’m writing for all of these moments where we were drawn to one another like a moth to the flame. I’m writing for the moments with you that live rent-free in my mind.
I’m writing for the bad too. I’m writing for that night you snapped at me. I’m writing for that night I told you I didn’t like your hot and cold behavior and for the months after that where you ignored me. I’m writing for the stolen glances across rooms where neither of us would look away. I’m writing for the way you hit on other girls in front of me but would glare at me when I'd hit on other men. I’m writing for the times I was asked to speak at an event and you would look away like my presence bothered you. I’m writing for the times you acted like I didn’t exist in front of your friend group and for the way you made me feel small and insignificant. I’m writing for your short-temper and the times I cried over you.
And, oh, how I've cried over you.