So I emailed you back. And I told you where I was, where I've been, and where I'm going.
I even sent you pictures so you could see my life and how happy I was. My life was going somewhere with or without you.
I told you how my dating life sucked because I could never seem to grow out of my awkwardness. I even told you a story I remember about us first meeting. How easy it was to talk to you from the beginning. A rare encounter, as if we had already known each other our entire lives.
It felt weird typing all of that on an email I wasn't sure you would respond to. Part of me just wanted you to know that my life was good.
Part of me wanted you to see how important you were to me when we were young and stupid. To remind you of what you left behind.
I wanted to ask why you only emailed me now, after almost two years. But I felt guilty because I could've asked myself the same question.
I wanted to ask you about the day I moved, why you drove an hour to see me. It was already enough to say our goodbyes the night before. But you woke up early, and drove to me. You asked me to take a walk. And we talked for another hour, about everything and anything. It felt like you were trying to tell me something. But you must've lost your courage or something, because you hugged me goodbye and that was it.
What were the things you left unsaid that day?
I left, looking back at you from the back window of the car. Like some kind of cliche coming-of-age movie.
What were you thinking now, emailing me after all this time?
But all I did was ask you about Romania, and if you liked the food.
