seven parts of me [on hold]

prologue

River and I met seven times. We made love, or whatever you'd prefer to call sex with two teenagers with intense feelings, seven times. And, we had seven, mind blowing, heart-stopping, delicate, absolutely indulgent first kisses.
River called them first kisses every time because they were the first thing he did when he saw me, after the official first kiss. I allowed him to call them that, because they always felt as good as a first kiss should.
River, my sweet as sugar, forgiving River, was now a shell of the person he once was.
And it's my fault.
If I hadn't run down the steps from his apartment, onto the busy New York sidewalk, pushing past bustling tourists and early morning workers who carried steaming coffee and interrupted aspirations. If I hadn't scurried onto open traffic, paying no attention to the musky taxis and hurried patrons. If I hadn't done those things, than River wouldn't have had to chase after me, following me into the mesh of cars. Than he wouldn't have been hit by an ongoing minicoop, he wouldn't fell and cracked his skull open, and he certainly wouldn't have lost his God damned memory, and maybe, just maybe, we could've made it.
But I did run away when he confessed his love to me.
And he did run right after me.
He did get hit by a car, and he would never remember me, not the way he did.
Now, not only is River a shell of the person he once was, so was I.
A broken piece of a puzzle that would never be finished, left to collect the pieces, and get on with my life.
I was in love with a man who didn't exist anymore, left in a half of a relationship. In unrequited love, with no chance of having it returned.
And it was my fault.
And I'd learned to live with it; or at least I appeared to.