by Monica A., 14
One day you’ll walk past him in a coffee shop, a few years from now. He’ll glance up automatically at the scent of your perfume. He’ll see you walk out the door and run behind you. He’ll tap your shoulder and you’ll turn around.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I just wanted to say hello.”
After all these years, he won’t have even contacted you once, but now he’ll want to say hello. You just won’t get it. You’ll stand there thinking for awhile.
All he’ll do is stare at your eyes and hair. He really won’t have changed at all, unlike you.
All you’ll do is stare at the ground, not knowing what to do or say to him.
He’ll walk closer to you and grab your hand.
“Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
You won’t know where he’s taking you, but you’ll go along with it. You’ll end up at the local park in your town, and you’ll sit on a bench, just like old times.
He won’t let go of your hand, and you won’t either, even though you’ll feel awkward about it.
That’s when you’ll realize that you both never really moved on.
There were still parts of you left in him, and parts of him left in you.
Red Bank, New Jersey
Bridge Ink 