Oh, sorry, I don’t always miss it.
I’m fine, most of the time. I don’t think about it, I don’t bring it into my mind. I don’t think about him.
But then I start remembering. And it makes me sad. It makes me sad that I don’t even think about the bad moments.
I think about the good ones.
Sometimes, I find myself smiling, staring at the window, looking at the bench outside where we used to spend our evenings. We laughed so much in that bench.
And then I remember that he’s gone. And my heart aches, knowing that he is never coming back.
It’s a weird feeling as I never really... I don’t know. What we had was weird, I guess. We never dated. He even had a girlfriend. But the time we spent together was... special. Yes, special in a “I really liked him and I know I meant more than just a friend to him” way.
I could see it, in the way he looked at me when we were at that bench; I could feel it, in the way he shook everytime I’d take his hand; I could sense it, in the way he would lean towards me when he was telling me something. Almost as if he was telling me a secret. And he was, somehow.
He wanted to kiss me. And the feeling was mutual, although we never did.
It was kind of our thing, our game. We’d flirt witch each other, make us fall for each other, only, we’d never make a move.
And don’t get me wrong, we both knew what the other felt. We just chose to never talk about it.
Now that I think about it, maybe it’s better that he left. We would have broken each other’s hearts, we would have destroyed each other. Because it may have been a game, but it would have become something else, eventually; something more. We would have felt in love with each other. Deeply.
Not that any of it matters anymore.
He’s gone, he left. He left his girlfriend, his family, his friends... he left me behind.
