You were my first. And I can't forget you. Even though the years have gone by, you're still at the center of my heart. Though our romance lasted just a mere four months, it marked me for life. A part of me died when you were killed in that motorcycle accident. I don't think I ever got over it. I just got used to you not being here.
What could have happened? Would we have gotten married? Because our best friends did. What if we didn't have that fight and I was on the back of the motorcycle with you? Did are argument save my life?
I missed being able to say good-bye because we weren't talking. I still don't know why. Almost three weeks had gone by since we last spoke. I knew you were out doing things because you're friends told me. But did you think of me?
Your best friend told me to look at a poem when you died. When I helped your sister iron your clothes for burial, I checked your journal. You had written a new poem. It mentioned a girl, and whether she was thinking about you. The description fit me. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Was it me? Because I was thinking about you.
I'll never know for sure what you were thinking. Did you think of me when you hit the pavement? When the semi-truck ran you over? What was it like to die? Was it fast? Did you feel pain?
In your coffin, I could see that the planes of your chest were all wrong. It must have been crushed. I knew every inch of that chest. I loved to caress it, feel the texture of your soft skin under mine. I still can remember it now. Is it wrong to remember your body like that? I know your body isn't like that anymore, deep underground and buried. But I remember how you were.
I remember the times we had together in your room, eating pizza, talking. The way you showed me how to feel with my first time. Would it hurt? It did, but just for a moment. And before we could follow up with that spectacular event, you died. How could you do that to me? Show me what it was like to be a woman and die on me? No wonder I can't forget you.
Each part of our relationship was marked by roses. You gave me a yellow rose to show we were friends. You gave me a pink rose to mark our first moments of love. You talked about the red rose, deep love. But you died before you could give me that. So, I lay red roses on your grave now. As I remember. So many years later, a red rose each year. To remember you.
Because I'll never forget.
Without the red rose,
YOU ARE READING
I Can Never Forget YouTeen Fiction
A letter to my boyfriend that died in a motorcycle accident 30 years ago. Saying those things I didn't say, and I should have. **Entry into the To All The Boys Contest