He was perfect. The way his eyes lit up when he seen me. The way his voice echoed through my head when I wasn’t with him. The way his smile brightened up the entire room. The way he could make anyone laugh no matter what kind of mood they were in. The way I always noticed when he would stare at me. Or kiss me on the head when he thought I was asleep. God the things he did when he thought I was asleep. I heard all his little “Goodnight, beautiful.” whispers. All of his “How did I get so lucky?”‘s.

I loved the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The way his eyes squinted, his shoulders bobbed, skinny hands covered his face, every time he laughed. His corny jokes. The way he always caught me off guard when he would say, “Dang you’re beautiful.” The way he pulled me closer to him unconsciously in the middle of the night mid dream. How he pulled me closer while we watched movies saying, “I just feel like you’re never close enough.” The way he kissed me no matter who was around him.

I loved the way he grabbed my hand and walked with me through the halls, flooded with people, at school. The way he would give me a quick kiss before heading off to his class as though he was saying goodbye forever. The way he would e-mail me in class telling me how bored he was and how much he wished he had new classes. The way he always talked me into skipping my third period to sit with him in an unmonitored hall and ponder life. The way he always asked me, “Penny for your thoughts.” when he thought something was troubling me. The way he would say, “I can see it in your eyes.” every time he knew something was wrong. The way he would rest his hand on my thigh when we were watching a funny YouTube video together. The way he would sneak me behind stage and onto the catwalk in the school’s theater.

I loved the way his eyes never seemed to be one continuous colour. The light shade of green when he was happy. The dark shade of blue when he was mad. The dark forest green when he was drunk. The hazel colour when he was lost in thought. The dark brown when he was sleepy. The way his eyes changed to a silvery blue when he would cry to me. God I think I loved his eyes the most. I could always tell how he was by looking into his eyes. His beautiful forever-changing eyes.

The way his brown soft hair curled around his ears. The way his jawline was perfectly angled on his face. The way he towered over me. The way he hugged me and my head went straight to his chest. The way I had to stand on my tippy toes just to kiss him.

We never had sex. We only ever made love. Everything about him was passionate. The way he touched me, kissed me, spoke to me. The way his eyes met mine every time I looked at him. The way his hand glided down my spine, across my chest, down my legs, the way the roamed my body. I always craved his touch. Always.

I loved his sassy little attitude when we would joke around. The way he would blink his eyes slowly and pull his head back a bit before coming up with something witty to say. He was so quirky. His over dramatic shocked face he would make when I would stick my tongue out at him. He would place his hand over her hart and widen his beautiful eyes like someone had insulted his great ancestors.

The little things we did that made us, us were one of my favourite things about him. Every time we opened a new pack of Marlboro red 100’s, removing the gold label, he would tie the tiny piece of plastic around my finger, or I his. Then place a tiny kiss on each other’s lips. The way when I would go cross-eyed at him he would joke about losing 10 I.Q. points. He always said it made him feel dumb. Our little joke about 92% that would have lost anyone in our joke besides each other. The way our matching tattoos was our way of saying hello to each other and our matching burn marks we gave each other with a hot lighter was something we did out of boredom.

I loved the way he’d get upset when I would tease him with a kiss. How I would let my lips linger near his before quickly licking his bottom lip quickly and pulling away. God that was the cutest thing ever. His nose would crinkle up and he would stick his tongue out at me.

I loved the little nicknames I gave him that he responded to no matter how much he said he hated them. How many nicknames for me that he came up with that I absolutely adored.

I loved how tight he would hug me and hold me. I felt so safe and warm in his arms. I never understood how a human could feel so much like home before he wrapped his arms around me and I could feel everything. I could hear the way his heart beat would pick up every time I moved. I loved the feeling of his voice vibrating through his chest every time he spoke.

I love him so much writing this hurts because how could I know all those little things about him? How could I love each and every little thing about him and him out of the blue not feel the same? How doesn’t he notice my hurt when he leaves me on seen for three weeks straight without a warning? How can he leave me with nothing but just the day before tell me I’m his everything? I’m his world. I’m the only star in his life of empty space. Why does it hurt this much? How could he just wake up one day and feel like I’m not the one for him anymore? But when I ask him why things have changed all of the sudden he says they haven’t. He doesn’t come see me anymore. Makes up every excuse on why he hasn’t replied. But I catch him talking to other girls. Liking other girl’s things. Swearing I’m the one but never actin like it when we aren’t around each other.

I was there the night he got too drunk to stand. I caught him every time he passed out. I picked him up from the ground when he smacked his head so hard on the tile floor I could hear it from across the room. I sat with him in the bathroom while he puked and almost drown himself from trying to flush the toilet. I forgave him when he wrapped his drunken noodley arms around me and cried into my neck about a stupid little white lie that involved canceling dinner plans. I helped him into a shower and brushed his teeth. He held me close that night. Closer than he ever had before and we talked. We talked about any possibilities of life.

I remember the first time he told me he loved me in a drunken murmur while sitting on my brother’s bathroom floor.

I remember when I first knew I loved him too.

I remember everything. And now… I’m the only one stuck with these memories.

I bet he doesn’t think about me. That not once do I cross his mind when he plays on repeat in mine.

Either he never loved me at all or he found another to love.

All I know, is that I still love him SO much and this hurts. And what makes this most painful is that I love him so much. SO MUCH. I would forgive him for everything and take him back even if he messaged me three years from now with just two words.

“I’m sorry.”

He’s the first person I have ever loved. And I still do.