20 years from now
you’re watching the big game on tv. you’re driving home from work. you’re walking past an office building. and you see it. you wish you hadn’t, but it’s there and you can’t erase what you saw. it’s him, the one you didn’t ask out because you were sure he’d say no. the one you didn’t talk to because you were sure he’d think it was weird. the one you didn’t tell you were in love with for many years because doing that terrified you more than anything else. but now he’s happy; not the insecure and awkward yet so incredibly perfect – to you– high schooler he once was. he grew up. he has a wife and little kids who have his eyes. you hope they have his kindness too. they’re watching him play, they’re in the car next to you, they’re outside an office building who’s name is none other but his own. he’s successful and you knew he would be, but you had hoped years ago to be a part of the journey that led him to it. you don’t know how to feel. you look over at another man who took the place in your heart once reserved for him. you think of your own small children, how they got this man's eyes, and think how you wouldn’t trade this for anything. but you know your former self would. there still remains the tugging feeling in your chest that “if you just did something, said something, everything could be different”. and there is still a piece of you that has no doubt you would be perfect with the man on tv, in the car, and in the office. you remember his laugh, his smile, the way he said certain words a little strangely. you wonder if he still watched spongebob religiously, and if he still had that passion about soccer. you start thinking about it too much, you always do this, and you feel the feeling of hot tears making their way to your eyes. you leave the room, you turn your face, you drive away. you try to forget you saw anything. and you remember things aren’t the way you were sure they would be when you were 15.