Remember the last time we were here?
I was overlooking the river, the gray clouds reflecting on its surface. The cold wintry chill made it seem exactly how it was on that day. I woke up today with a strange sense of energy compelling me to walk past those places where he and I once were. Not in concrete times, but flawed moments that I would go on to remember forever, even if they were just moments in time.
You wore your ill-fitting white shirt, and it was the only day I did not ask you to fix your tie. I let it hang loose on you, watching you walk past with my thoughts in your mind.
Remember the noise in the corridors? The crowd in the room? And the clock exactly at nine-twenty? And how it all seemed to revolve around you and me, without ever actually affecting our own broken conversations?
I then drove to our old school football field. The lush greens were now a dead brown decay, the bleachers a crumbling mess and our tiny little spot still in existence. I walked across the field, the dust kicking up with every step, and to our place where I sat down.
Remember when we were here? The day was almost ending. I sat next to you, while you said you’d miss me for the next six days. Later I’d tell you that I battled the urge to kiss you, and you’d try to turn away and hide your inevitable smile. It was a beautiful day. And watching myself walk away from you was a memory I knew would always remain.
The high-school had now been shut for years. So I was basically trespassing, but I hardly cared. Because it seemed at the time, just a thing I had to do. Being there was, in essence, the same. Same feelings, same place. Just parallel existences.
The hurt. And the memories. Exemplified.
Read it here: Endings