Dear you,
We met on a Tuesday, the second one in June. I remember that day well. We were at a concert, but it was still early. The only reason I went was because my friend dragged me there. She spotted you and tugged me along, despite my protests. You had just finished scribbling in a notebook when I walked up and our eyes locked, your crystal blue ones with my dull brown. You smiled at me, a small smile, and I found myself returning it. I didn't know why, but I did. I remember how nervous and fidgety I was as I stood across from you as my friend talked to someone else. You smiled a little, tentative, but started a conversation with me. It was more like shouting though, over the loud music. My heart had thudded with nerves, but I didn't know why. We talked a lot that day. I thought I'd seen you around campus before, especially at the library, but I doubted that we shared any classes. Somehow, though, we started a friendship.
And that's how it began.
At first, you let me think that whatever it was you kept writing in that tattered notebook of yours was. . . well, you let me imagine what it was, and I didn't push you for answers. We grew closer in time though, and I learned that they were lyrics. I remember snatching it away from you once to look through it, and you let me. You seemed anxious, though, and when I asked why, you said it was because you were worried I'd think less of you since you wrote country songs. Apparently, it didn't seem manly enough to you. I laughed hard at that, and you seemed more relieved than anything.
You played your guitar for me a few times, but never one of your songs. Not then, anyway. About a year later, you sang your own lyrics for me. You told me the song was about us. You also said that I was the only one to have ever heard something you wrote. I had felt such a childlike triumphant feeling when you said that. Your voice was soft and deep both when you sang and when you talked. I didn't know how it happened, but somehow, I was falling in love with your voice and you.
You asked me a few times if I sang, but each time I'd closed my mouth tight. Remember the first time we sang together? It was in your backyard, under that big old oak tree. You lived with your uncle, close to campus. I was in such a good mood that afternoon; a gentle breeze floated past and leaves fluttered around in the cloudless sky. You sang my favorite song, and soon, I found myself singing along like I was seventeen again. Not that we were that much older than that. You stopped in the middle of the chorus and I didn't notice. I kept singing.
You said that I had a beautiful voice.
The months passed quickly with you. You weren't the first one I've loved, but you were different. I never told you that. Sometimes, I wish I did, but I never did have as much courage as you.
You were so egotistical. I acted like I hated it, but in reality, I didn't. You always made bets with me. Little things, but they were still fun. Remember that one time, when you bet me a kiss that I couldn't climb higher than you on the oak tree? All I did was grin as I climbed after you, but inside, I was terrified. I knew you were scared too—after all, we weren't seven years old—but you always held it back better, masking it with teasing, laughter, and pride. I wanted to prove you wrong though, turn that pride of yours down a notch or two. You climbed high, but halfway up, I froze. I thought you would tease me, but you didn't. You helped me get back down where you held me tight.
And you kissed me anyway.
That kiss. I would never, ever admit it to you, and it sounds silly, admitting it to myself, but it was so different from all the other ones. That night, when I was about to go to sleep, I could still hear your voice in my head and feel the gentle pressure of your lips against mine.
There was also that one time when I was so sick, I missed classes for about a week. When I finally did go back, my voice was almost nonexistent. You took one look at me, hugged me as tightly as you could despite the fact you could have gotten sick too, and grabbed a pad of sticky notes. We wrote little notes to each other all day as a way of conversation, and you made yours as silly as possible to make me laugh. Thanks to you, I felt better than I had in days.
That year was full of firsts. The first time I sang in front of someone, the first time I laughed until I was rolling around the floor in tears, and the first time I thought that I might actually, truly be in love. Two years later, you still kissed me gently and told me how beautiful I was every day, despite my wispy hair and dull eyes. Looking back, I realize that I will never forget the years we've spent together, however few they were. Even though you stayed your egotistical self that teased me and laughed with me, you never did anything I didn't want you to. One day I asked you something about why you never tried anything, you being a boy and all. You said it was because you respected me.
I loved you for that, but I loved you for just being you, too.
The doubts came soon after that. Remember? We were too seriously in love to not think about our future. For the next few years, we'd be in college, working to get our degrees. Until then, we had to stick with jobs that weren't enough to depend on for a house, bills, and everything else that was needed. You were worried. We had arguments based only on that one thing. Money. You were unwilling to keep me waiting, to keep going with this relationship until we graduated. You didn't say it that directly of course, but I could read between the lines well enough.
We split for awhile after that.
It was painful, not seeing you everyday like I used to, not hearing your teasing and not participating in bets with you, but I went on, studying hard. I knew that you needed time to yourself to think, and I didn't blame you. Not really. Instead, I tried my best to push thoughts of you aside and focus on other things. My friends and I went to restaurants and movies whenever we had a second of spare time. With their help, I threw myself into my studies like I never had before. I tried, and I did alright.
But I didn't succeed. I didn't see you often in the hallways, so that helped, but whenever I did see you, you looked so guilty. I knew though, that when you figured things out, I'd know. So I waited.
The day before my birthday, I spotted a little box on my desk. It was awfully cute, with a little bow on top. I didn't know who sent it, and there was no card, so I opened it.
In the box was every little shape and color of sticky notes ever invented. I swear. A memory was written on each one. It went from all the good things you could remember from the first day to a month ago. The concert, the time we stayed up all night just to say we could, spending hours at the library, Christmas at your house where we gave each other little gifts for fun, and so many more. I read each and every one. When I looked inside the box again, I saw two words etched into the bottom.
I'm sorry.
Remember my birthday? April 5th. You picked me up that day, a little before sunset. I'd greeted you by throwing my arms around you. We stayed that way for a minute or two while you told me how sorry you were, and that you'd figure something out. I forgave you. We drove to a lake where it was quiet. When the sun set, it lit the water gold, pink, orange, and blue. You pointed at something, and I looked toward it, surprised. There, in the middle of the lake, two swans swam off toward the dying embers of the sun. I waited for you to ruin it with one of your teasing comments, but instead, you held my head in your hands and kissed me. You gave me my present then. It was a tiny, blue little box. I opened it to find a chain that glittered with a locket in the shape of a heart. You smiled at me and helped me put it on. I've hardly taken it off since.
The week passed quickly, with us catching up on lost time. We mostly talked. We had countless conversations about memories, college, and our futures. We went out with friends and alone, too. Really, we just tried to enjoy life as much as we could.
It was a few weeks later when you claimed you had a surprise for me. It was a Friday, and our hardest classes for the week were over and done with. We'd spent the evening together, and we ended it at your house, at first just walking around the large yard and ending up by the oak tree, enveloped in a comfortable silence. Then, once again, you reminded me of the surprise you still had to give me.
So under the moonlight and stars, beside your oak tree, you told me to close my eyes and I did. When I opened them again you were kneeling in front of me, holding out a ring with a diamond that shone like sunlight captured in dewdrops.
I said yes.
Do you remember yesterday? You came, and we spent the whole day together. We redid our firsts. We sang together, climbed a tree, kissed, and you even led me to a place where we could overlook the city's lights. When we were there, so high up, we let ourselves go. We freed our frustrations and nervous excitement by screaming out at the world. By the end, we were leaning against each other, laughing.
Your last words to me were, "Goodnight, sweet dreams. I love you."
That was the last time I saw you. You had dropped me off at my house and left. I had asked you to call me when you made it home. You never did.
Your breath left you the first week of June, and when I found out, it felt like my breath would leave me, too. It wasn't your fault. Someone was weaving across the roads, ignorant of all dangers. There was nothing you could do about it. By the time the medics came, it was too late.
By the time I found out, there was nothing I could do, even though I went as fast as I could. Stains so dark that they looked almost black covered the inside of the car where your head had lain. The liquid that caused them dripped from your forehead. You looked as if you'd gone through a battle.
I'm sorry.
I'm on the plane now. I'm not sure where I'm heading, or what will come next, but I know that everything will be okay, someday. I said my last goodbyes to you this morning, along with your family. Our eyes were red and damp, but it was sunny outside. I think you would have liked that the day was nice. Probably would've said that sunny days offered some joy despite everything else.
You closed your blue eyes for the last time seven days ago. It's Saturday now, the second week of June. Sorry about the wet little smudges on the page. I can't help it. We had labeled today the beginning of forever. I was supposed to wear my white dress today, but now, I'm wearing black. You never saw it, but I think you would've liked it. Right about now, I'd probably be standing in front of a mirror, a nervous wreck. You'd be standing at the end of the aisle, and when you'd see me, you'd smile just like you did when we first met. You'd take my hand, and I wouldn't be nervous anymore. We'd be together, just like we will sometime in the future. Your eyes would speak words you couldn't say as we said our vows together.
"Not even in death do us part."