It was the day after Sydney had taken her own life. We were all in a broken place because the girl we had all seen as perfect had fallen. I had razor burn on my legs and probably on my heart as well because the world is rough on tender girls like me. You in your sweater and me in my dress. You reached back and grabbed my hand. That was the first time I had felt your gentle strength in months. When I followed you into the room, you turned and said, "Gosh, you're beautiful." I laughed and said, "You're an idiot." because you're good with your words and your charm can stop hearts. You gently grabbed my face and said, "What if I kissed you?" I laughed and pushed you away because that's what I do. "I'm just confused," you said. "Good," I said, "Because I've been confused for a while." You pulled me in and kissed my cheek. "I owed you." I owed you so much more. "What if I kissed you?" That what if? Still echoes in my ears.

The kind of ache that lasts two years

"If I wasn't okay with it, I wouldn't be here." turned into "Leave me alone." turned into "Can I run by?" turned into "I'll see you soon." turned into "Thank you for coming." turned into "I'll see you in a few."

He started in kindergarten. With his precious comb-over and mine to match.
To fourth grade, the falling began. I've been tender hearted since birth. He admired my freshly pierced ears and we colored our days away together.
To fifth grade, where crushes were obvious and weren't cool.
To sixth grade, other girls started to realize what a prize he was. I was jealous and he was clueless.
Junior high, we drifted.
Sophomore year, the girlfriend. The older girlfriend that steals your little comb-over innocence.
The summer before Junior year. The stars aligned.
Starting the summer off having a crush on another boy in "the cul-de-sac", we ended up sitting next to each other at the movies. Transformers. We annoyed everyone around by talking through the entire movie. He was it and I knew. Fourth grade me knew and I knew now.
His angel of a mother. Being best friends with a 37 year old at 16 is an oddity but a comfortable one. We talked of boys, our boys, her boy. She approved and we giggled.
The summer was spent trying to win him over. Held hands, the glimpses of love and always ending up underneath the stars, where our hearts could breathe. Plane stories with his snark and my flying dreams. "Poor Rosa."
Fall time when I was ready for what came next. Long weekends, tired bodies and one very grumpy boy.
The first months were great. It was "Go to bed." and talking to Mom for a few more hours. It was sneaking out to eat muffins and "Would you rather?"s. It was falling in love with his dedication.
Fall turned into winter where we froze over.
"Just tell me." "Leave me alone." Emotions on high turned to mistakes that I was too afraid to admit.

Her. The girlfriend. The year and a half girlfriend.

His gentle strength and the power behind his heartbeat. He can move mountains. And he will.
The hugs that mean more than words and hours of nonsense talking and "I don't know why I told you that." "Because you can."

Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick…

It's when you have your sight set on something, your whole heart and soul is invested in this one goal. You're taking steps in its direction, trudging through the trial to achieve what you dream. Suddenly, you look up from the next step you're preparing to take and there it is. By some sweet miracle, it has made steps towards you. You reach out and it is still just beyond your reach. But, oh it's so close. Close enough to validate staying on this road, even though it once seemed impossible. It's so close. You stretch your hand as far as you can while working your feet through everything that is holding you back, and then. The floor is gone and you're tumbling down to a heap of yourself. How bitter the thought of "We were so close."

This time last year.

When the leaves turn and gray skies return to be a permanent fixture, my mind goes to them. Those who shattered me and left me to pick up my own pieces. The "this time last year" can cripple you, with its memories drowning you when you thought that you could swim, or it can bring you above the surface with the realization of how far you've come.

"That's why you should be a writer; you don't need anyone else," he said.

And I listened. I'm an old, grumpy soul with an affection for peanut butter&jelly who firmly believes in alone time. Cynicism, pretty smells and good food are what fuel my fire. Physically eighteen, living my hopes and dreams in the place I swore I'd never end up. Jesus is my homeboy and I tell my family everything. There will be jokes, there will be snark and maybe even an inspirational tear or two. Your guess is as good as mine.