You told me the love story of how your mother and father met. They were young. They loved and left. Three years later they found each other again, somehow, by chance. Love returned. I loved this story. I guess, I thought, if I waited long enough you would come back to me too. We would have that epic love story that was always on the precipice, on the tips of our tongues, in the way you would look at me, in the way I would look at you. But the years passed, in seasons, in ups and downs, as life always does, and we did cross paths, lives, even bodies; I let you into my home, my bed. But you were a visitor and you never quite returned to me. You were older now, ambitious, but still the same to me. I was older now too, you said, all grown up, 25. It’s funny. But in my mind I was still 22, right there where you left, like a child I stood, just waiting for you to come back home.
And your name will pop up every blue moon as a warning mainly, remember him?
The friends who knew me then will say I loved you far too much, such a mistake they say, we are so happy you are in a better place.
Because there was love and then there was him.
But they do not know I am still right where you left. Eighteen, with bright wide eyes, my chaotic mind and wonky heart, still waiting for you to come back. I swear, this lifetime will pass in winters and summers, in life and death, and I will still love you. Years and decades will come and I will search for you in other people, I will see you in crowds, will swear I glimpsed your face for only a moment.
Because ours was a wildfire love.
It spread too quickly and before we could say slow down, we were engulfed, We were too caught up in each other, With each red and orange flame licked kiss bringing us to the precipice of our messed up teenage romance.
Because there was love and then there was us.